Inheritance of the Slashers
by The Lobster's Claw
Summary: When Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers and some of the other slashers discover a portal, they have no idea it leads to Alagaësia. Now, they must aid Eragon, Saphira, and the rest of the Varden, as the slashers find themselves in a brave new world filled with more action, blood, and non-stop violence than any of their movies will ever have. Make sure to review.
1. Brave New World

_**Alright, I've decided to do a crossover of the Inheritance Cycle(Eragon books) and several slasher films. It won't be apart of my Rise Of Extinction series or any of my slasher stories. It instead will be my own version of Book IV, with slashers helping Eragon and the crew! So, read and enjoy, and review and tell me if there anything I can improve upon!**_

Inheritance of the Slashers

Chapter I

The Battle of Belatona was not going quite well for the Varden. First off, Saphira was hit in the neck by a strange weapon used for killing dragons, called a Dauthdert. The magic was poisoning her, and if that wasn't just bad enough, the Imperial spellcasters outnumbered their whole forces by 3 to 1.

"Orik, move your dwarves to the southeast wall! It's the place with the weakest Imperial forces, and with your axes and stature, they won't know what hit them!", Eragon shouted. "Please, do it now! If we don't capture the southeast wall, then we might as well not capture the front of Belatona! GO!"

Orik nodded wearily. "As you wish, mine clan brother. I understand the urgency of this tactic". Without another word, Orik yelled to his dwarven soldiers and ordered them to flank the Imperials at the southeast wall.

_Little one, please. I need you, or someone, anyone to heal me-please..._, Saphira mentally begged to Eragon. But there was nothing he could do right now, in the middle of battle, even though he understood that if someone didn't clear out the poisonous anti-dragon magic from Saphiras body, she would die in less than three hours. It looked like the battle would take more than three hours.

Eragon was at a loss. Saphira was dying, and he and the Varden had no clue, no defined strategy, as to win Belatona.

He felt himself go weak.

_-POV change-_

Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, and Michael Myers were walking through the meadow, looking for some job. It didn't have to be killing horny teenagers. It could just be delivering some package, anything to halt the boredom of this day.

"This blows!", Michael roared as he kicked a tin can. It went flying. "How is it all those one-time slashers like Marz and the Prowler actually get jobs, while we, the big star slasher villains, are stuck wandering through some damn meadow? How is it the nobodies are more loved than us?!"

"Calm yourself, Michael! The only reason none of us have jobs right now is because _we're _not doing anything to further ourselves_._ Plus, if Prowler heard you call him a nobody, he'd blow your goddamn brains all over the place!", Jason scoffed.

"Prowler can suck my cock!", Michael snorted. "Him and Cropsy, that little Freddy rip-off!"

"You know Cropsy came three years before me, right?", Freddy asked quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't give a crap! I want something exciting to happen for once!", Michael raged. Jason sighed as Freddy rolled his eyes.

But it looked like he got his wish when Leatherface, Candyman, Pinhead, Pumpkinhead, and Chucky ran over to them.

"Not you guys too!", Jason cried, slapping his forehead in exhaustion. "I already have Michael whining about-"

"Drop what you fags are doing! We've got somethin' big goin' down here, and I think none of you want to miss it!", Chucky gasped, trying to catch his breath from all that running.

Candyman shot him an angry look. "Quit calling them fags! Just because Freddy was in the second _Elm Street_, does not mean you have the right to call any of them f-"

"Get to the point, damn it! First you tell me something big is happening, and now you're just giving me a lecture on Freddy's homosexuality!", Michael cried.

"I'M NOT GAY! Now what's going on?", Freddy anxiously asked. Freddy really didn't like it when anyone brought up _A Nightmare On Elm Street 2_.

"We were hiking through the woods, when Tall Man and Creeper found this weird blue portal thing in a ditch, floating a few inches above the ground. Tall Man and Creeper decided to stay behind, so as to make sure nothing happened to the portal. Now follow us!", Pinhead answered, and with that, they were all sprinting to find out if Pinhead's story wasn't just a pull of the leg.

_-POV change-_

"I can't hold it!", Arya screamed, trying as hard as she could to hold up the invisible magic shield to push back the Imperial forces. So far, the battle was nearly into an hour, and the Varden were at a loss as to what to do.

Eragon was growing impatient, so with a deep breath, he unleashed a nonverbal spell. It was a deadly one, one that turned the ground beneath the soldiers of the Empire to flames.

The soldiers shrieked, howling and madly thrashing as the flames melted them, licking their flesh and regurgitating it as ashes.

Several siege weapons of the Varden fired bolts and boulders, collapsing the huge architecture Belatona was famous for. Death was literally raining from high above.

Eragon, however, knew, that sooner or later, they would have to retreat. It struck him like a poison dart of the Urgals.

Suddenly, all stopped and stared, as an odd blue portal flashed into existence, humming and floating unnaturally.

_This can't be good_, Eragon worriedly thought to himself.

_-POV change-_

"Holy crap!", Jason gasped, stuck in awe as everyone else marveled at the portal. He knew something was not right here, but he ignored his consciousness, and instead just stared at the portal. It was nothing but beautiful, and it radiated magnificence.

"What are we all waitin' for?! Let's hop on in!", Chucky yipped with glee, and he ran toward the portal, but Tall Man's foot stuck out and blocked his path.

"Boy! None of us have a clue as to this portal's origin, or where it leads to! For all we know, this might lead to Hell itself!", Tall Man sneered. Chucky crossed his arms and pouted.

"I'd actually like that", Pinhead said, grinning.

"Of course _you _would!", Freddy laughed, yet Pumpkinhead didn't take the joke and roared into Freddy's face.

Suddenly, several blue tentacles of the same energy as the portal whipped out and grabbed the slashers, starting with Candyman.

"Damn, ho, let me the hell g-!", but he was cut short as he vanished into the portal. Creeper was next.

He struggled and growled, but he put up even less of a fight than Candyman, and he was quick to get sucked in.

"Everybody, RUN!", Jason screeched, but the tentacles wrapped around his, Freddy's, and Leatherface's ankles, and dragged them in.

Everyone else was taken in right after them.

_-POV change-_

What Eragon saw was the strangest thing.

First, he saw a huge, dark-skinned man wearing some huge fur overcoat with a hook in place of his right hand fall out. Eragon attempted to approach him, but the dark-skinned man wasn't alone.

Following him was some sort of creature with a huge, wide-brimmed hat, yet it fell off and revealed the truth of his hideous face.

A man with some red and green, long-sleeved shirt with gruesome burns, another hat, and a clawed glove on his right hand flew out, followed by a hulking bald man with some dingy round mask with holes on them, and a red triangle.

"What in the name of Gunt-", but Orik's astonishment was cut out by the screech of some horrible creature.

This creature burst out, apparently naked with gigantic shoulders, a pulled back head, foot-long claws, and a gross looking face, with fangs around 15 inches long.

Eragon didn't bother to take a look at the rest, only seeing the man with the red triangle, hole covered mask come charging at him with some huge blade, not like any sword he had seen.

Suddenly, an Imperial swordsman rushed in and tore his blade into the man's shoulder.

But that wasn't what made everyone gasp. What made the gasping was the man acted as if though nothing had even touched him, as he simply took the sword out, threw it to the side, and decapitated the swordsman with strength only seen in the elves and Urgals.

Two axemen of the Empire charged right at the man, yet Eragon swooped in, shouted "_Brisingr!_", and his sword turned to blue flames as he sliced the two axemen in twine. The man seemed to snort, before he swung his blade. Eragon blocked, yet he found the man's blade was tough enough to withstand Brisingr. The man lowered the blade and managed to slice through the right of Eragon's lower torso, and Eragon cried out as it burned through like fire.

Eragon grasped the wound as the man lifted the blade before quickly lowering it, only for Eragon to bend over and barrel-roll to the right, hearing the man grunt as his blade struck mere ground. Eragon spun around to face the man before he could look up again, but the man grabbed his left ankle and picked him up before slamming him into the ground. The gray cobblestone street below cracked with the impact.

Eragon groaned as he tried to get back up, yet the man stomped his foot onto Eragon's chest, tearing the air from his windpipe. He prepared to lift the blade, but was distracted as a swordsman came toward him. The man ran his blade completely through the swordsman's stomach twice in rapid succession. He turned his attention back to Eragon.

But what Eragon saw was another axeman sneak behind the man. He didn't know why, but he pushed himself up, throwing the man down, and hacked through the axeman's throat with Brisingr. He slumped to the ground, blood flowing from the slit throat, coloring the pavement red.

Eragon then remembered the man killing those Imperials. He turned to the man, and helped him up. The man glared at him, only to look at the Imperial corpses surrounding them.

"You help us, we'll return the favor!", Eragon said, and the man simply nodded. He then turned to the rest of those who had came from the portal.

"Guys, we have to help them! They say if we do, they'll help us-", the man yelled to them, but he was rudely interrupted by a sword shoved through his stomach.

Swinging around, the man screamed, "You son of a bitch! I was trying to say something, when you interrupted!". Without another word, Jason raised his fist and sent the mans head flying right off his neck.

_A mere human knocking a mans head off with a single punch? But that is __impossible__!_, Eragon though to himself as four men ran toward the masked man with the red triangle on his forehead.

Suddenly, the man with the clawed glove threw some sort of huge, bright green ball toward the four soldiers, and as it came close, the ball separated into four smaller balls, before it hit the men right in the faces. With that, they seemed to fall asleep.

The clawed glove wearing man laughed eerily as he vanished for no apparent reason.

Only the slashers knew that this was Freddy, and once you fell asleep, Freddy had you under his thumb.

_-POV change-_

The four Imperials found themselves in some bizarre room, the walls covered in steaming pipes and a huge fireplace pumping in the center. They looked around, wondering what had happened to the city of Belatona, when they heard the sound of metal scraping against the pipes, making sparks.

"Oh, I love you, my children! Once you've gone a' sleepin', you're nothin' but mine, me little sweethearts!", the burnt man with the glove boasted, before he laughed, and it was a nerve-scratching laugh, making the Imperials cover their ears.

"Once you're asleep, you're mine! _Welcome to my nightmare!_", the man hissed, as he raised his glove and the four men were only able to scream in pure terror.

_-POV change-_

Eragon watched as the four soldiers screamed in their sleep, before their faces were slashed off viciously, even though there was nothing there to attack them. Suddenly, the man with the clawed glove materialized back into the world.

"How, in the world-that's not possible!", Arya cried, but then, the Imperial soldiers all rushed forward, catching the Varden at unawares.

Yet almost as suddenly, there was some noise. Some droning, as the sky turned black and yellow. Roran was the first to realize what it was.

"They're-bees! Millions of bees!", he cried, and the Varden retreated as the buzzing insects zoomed around, swarming the Empires men, all of them screaming as they were covered with the creatures and stung to death, as those who weren't attacked by the bees were hooked and gutted by some unseen figure.

"Where in the world did all those _bees _come from?!", Eragon asked the man with the red triangle-mask, as an Imperial covered in bees screamed, before he fell to the ground, dying of his stings.

"That has to be Candyman!", the man yelled over all of the buzzing and screaming.

"I beg your pardon?", Eragon asked. Candyman?

"He's the black guy with the hook and big-ass coat!", the man said.

"The first to fall out of that portal?", Eragon asked.

"Yeah", the man replied, as they ran to one of the alleys in the city.

"HALT!", an Imperial commander barked, and all stopped dead in their tracks. "None of you are getting out until we beat you to submission!"

"All talk, no action!", a pale man, with some torn leather robe and a bizarre grid tattoo on his head, smirked. "You have no right to tell us what to do-and you should learn to speak repectfully to the Prince of Pain!"

"Who are you to speak, rebel scum?", the commander spat, before he actually spat into the mans face.

"I am the Warden of the Labyrinth-and you, shall be the first of my victims here to see its wonders!", the robed man hissed, and with that, several hooked chains zipped out of nowhere and into the commanders stomach.

They lifted him into the air, pulling outward, before they showed his ribcage. They thrashed around, and Eragon nearly threw up what he had in him. The gloved man looked and chuckled.

"Always an interesting experience, seeing Pinhead do his thing for the first time!", he laughed. Eragon couldn't understand how it was funny.

The commanders underlings screeched as they attempted to flee, but several chains flew out and ripped them to shreds as well, as the man called "Pinhead" laughed evilly, his eyes flaring with pleasure as he shredded Galbatorix's soldiers, and the Varden, including Arya, Orik, and Roran, looked on with disgust.

"Brisingr!", an Imperial spellcaster shouted, yet he himself was instead covered in white flames.

"How-?", Eragon was asking, yet Pinhead seemed to answer before he could even finish.

"I caught the spell before it hit me, and sent it right back at him!", Pinhead said, before he grinned at the spellcasters burning body.

The man called Candyman suddenly appeared, smiling as he wiped his brow with his sleeve, before yipping, "Phew! That's the most work I've gotten in over 10 years! If what I did before was revenge, this is sport!". He laughed, joining the gloved man and Pinhead.

"Sport? _Sport?! _This is war!", Roran raged, brandishing his hammer.

"Then I wish war was always this fun! Mind you, this is my first war, if this is what it is, but this makes me want more!", Candyman cheered.

_These people are crazy! Not only are they slaughtering the Empires men in the most horrific fashions possible, they are acting like it's some game!_, Eragon thought to himself angrily. What kind of people were these monsters?

_Little one please-hurry..._, Saphira groaned, Eragon feeling her life going away.

Suddenly, they all saw a catapult fling a huge boulder, right toward the part of the wall Saphira was resting upon.

_**So, what do you think? All these killers coming into Alagaesia, while the Varden and Empire are going head on-looks like they'll have some fun here! But what will happen to poor Saphira? Will the catapult kill her? Will she die slowly of the anti-dragon magic from the Dauthdert? Will Eragon and the rest accept these slashers? Why are YOU asking all these questions? All you need to know is to R&R, and that's all I'm telling you for now!:)**_


	2. They weren't the only ones

_**Now with ideas for this chapter already mapped out, I'm actually trying to work hard for this story! I first wrote it as a crossover to kill some time when I don't have homework during school days, but now, I'm devoted to it wholeheartedly. But ENOUGH of that! Here's chap.2, and R&R!**_

"NOOOOOOO!", Eragon shrieked as he saw the boulder fly straight toward Saphiras head, ready to tear it off in an instant.

Then, before anyone could blink, some winged creature zipped into view, grabbed the boulder, landed on the wall next to Saphira, and hurled it down right onto the Empires soldiers.

The winged figure stood still, before it folded its wings back into its back and jumped down, crushing an Imperial commander instantly to death before it grabbed a young looking Imperial soldier and snapped his neck faster than any elf or Shade was capable of.

Eragon saw it was the second man to fall out of the portal, the one with the wide-brimmed hat.

"Who-?", Eragon was asking, yet the man with the red triangle-mask heard and answered.

"He's The Creeper. He smells parts of you with fear and feasts on them, but sometimes he also crafts with them", the man explained as The Creeper whipped out two simple sticks. In an instant, those sticks turned into two knives, and in a second, The Creeper slayed over a dozen soldiers of the Empire, their shields being torn through as if though they were of ribbons.

Eragon gazed in disbelief as he saw The Creeper kill all the men with such flexibility and agility, standing slack-jawed. _Only Shades, Riders, and elves are able to move like that!_, he though to himself. As he observed, a hulking commander, almost as tall as the the man with the red triangle-mask, slashed his sword down, severing The Creepers left hand clean off.

Yet The Creeper seemed as if though he didn't even feel a thing, as he tore the commanders left hand off, shoved it into his mouth, swallowed it whole, and in a near instant, regrew his left hand.

The commander fell screaming, clutching his bloody stump, as four of his men rushed to his aid.

"Oh yeah, did I mention he can regenerate damaged body parts by eating them from humans?", the red triangle-masked man added in as The Creeper ripped one of the four soldiers' eyes completely out of the sockets, swallowing them whole as he ate another soldiers head, before punching through yet another soldiers chest, ripping out the lungs, and eating them.

Finally, the last of the four soldiers who had come to the commander manged to raise his sword and sliced The Creepers head off, the hat falling off as well.

Yet a human head came out of the shockingly clean stump, and instantly, it morphed back into The Creepers own head.

Grabbing the soldiers sword, The Creeper emitted a low, inhuman growl before he kicked the soldier across half the field, caving in his ribcage before it could be broken, and smashing through his armor.

Every Imperial before The Creeper dispersed, praying to get away from this otherworldly monstrosity.

"I think we're gonna have a hell of a time here", Candyman chuckled to himself, brandishing his hook hand.

_-POV change-_

"I blame this on YOU!", The Prowler raged, pointing right at his son, The Miner.

"What did I do?! You always blame every single screw-up on _me!_", The Miner whined. Everyone else looked plain annoyed at the constantly bickering father and son. No matter what, The Prowler always seemed to find an excuse to make The Miner look like the bad guy.

"Cause they're your screw-ups, especially this one! First, you forgot to pack the map, then, these three mentally challenged robots(he motioned to the three Killbots) "can't find a single damn clue as to where we are, and lo and behold, we get lost in some huge ass forest! And all because of you!", The Prowler barked.

"Sir, it appears there is some strange natural anomaly hindering our capability to scan the forest", the first Killbot, Protector 1, droned in its low, electronic voice.

"Then just how are you able to pick up this weird natural crap, if it won't let you scan the forest? Please explain how that makes any sense!", The Prowler sneered.

"Sir, we picked up this anomaly as our GPS systems began scanning the forest. It quickly blocked itself, and all else here, out".

As Chromeskull went about texting on his phone, complaining to his wife as to how he and his company got lost, his screen went black, before it said "Sorry, no connection available".

"What the hell? My cell phone just went out for no reason! It just randomly said there was no connection!", Chromsekull gasped.

"Well, Retardskull, we're in the middle of a gigantic forest. What did you expect?", The Prowler mockingly asked.

"Maybe I'll try calling someone on my own phone!", Ghostface said, as he pulled out his phone. It was really a brick-like home phone.

"Umm, Ghostface- what are you carrying a home phone with you for?", Cropsy asked, and Ghostface looked up to see everyone else staring at him as if though he was insane.

"Oh. You know what, I actually don't know", Ghostface answered, shrugging his shoulders as he dialed.

That was when the blue flash of light hit them all.

_-POV change-_

Roran swung his hammer, smashing in the jaw of an Imperial swordsman, before diving in and smashing the head of another Imperial twice-the first, tearing the helmet, the second, ripping the skull up.

A spear-carrier poked at him, but Roran leaped to the side, hammered the spear in half, and finally crushed the mans throat with his hammer.

The next thing he knew, Roran found himself flat on his back on the ground, as a soldier of the Empire put his foot on his chest. "Ah, the legendary Stronghammer. Finally brought to the ground, by a mere rapier-wielder as I! The king will be proud of me!", he sneered, before he laughed, preparing to plunge his rapier into Rorans throat.

That's when he saw the knife exit from the soldiers eye, his grin turning to a look of horror and disgust before he slid to the ground, on top of Roran.

The man who killed the rapier-wielder threw the body off, and reached his open hand out. Grasping it, Roran was pulled to his feet, as he looked upon his savior.

The man had ragged brown hair, wearing some sort of white mask covering his whole head, with only eye-holes exposing any of his face. He was huge, with faded dark blue pants and a long sleeved shirt of the same kind, and in his right hand, he held a bloody kitchen knife.

"Roran. Roran Garrowsson", Roran said, waiting for the strange man to introduce himself.

"Michael. Michael Audrey Myers. But you don't have to know my middle name", he said, the words somewhat muffled through the mask.

"I am in your debt, for you saving me", Roran explained.

"Trust me, by the time this battle looks to be over, we'll all be in each others debts!", Michael Myers sneered.

And with that, Michael walked off, Roran looking in awe as he used his bare hands to throw men and tear them apart.

_-POV change-_

The blue portal appeared, before it spewed Cropsy, The Prowler, The Miner, the three Killbots, Chromsekull, Ghostface, and Madman Marz out into the open battlefield of Belatona.

"Where the hell are we now?!", The Prowler asked, before they looked up and saw an oddly dressed man.

"Brisingr!", he shouted, and with that, a bright blue ball of fire appeared in his hands.

"The hell?!", Cropsy cried, and the man took notice as he sneered, "First experience with magic? Looks like it's going to be your last!", he said, madly laughing, but as he prepared to throw the ball of fire, it suddenly erupted and shrouded him in flames instead. He screamed and thrashed as he burned to death.

They all looked over to Pinhead. "Ah, hello, gentleman. I guess you can thank me, because after all, I manipulated that spell so to save your lives".

"Pinhead?! What are you doing here? What is this place? And how did that guy make a fire-", The Miner was asking.

But then, a whole entire platoon of Imperials streamed toward the group, and without another thought, Madman Marz roared as he charged into them, clawing into one soldiers throat while decapitating another.

Pinhead smiled. "It appears Marz is starting to have fun here. Why don't you join him?"

_-POV change-_

Eragon rushed to Pinhead, ignoring the newcomers, as he asked, "Pinhead! Saphira is dying of anti-dragon magic! A spear used for killing dragons, called a Dauthdaert, hit her and she is dying! I can't save her, and, and...", Eragon trailed off. He didn't want to seem desperate in front of these newcomers.

"Saphira?", Pinhead asked, before Eragon pointed to the blue dragon on the wall.

"She will die in perhaps an hour if we don't save her! Please!", he begged.

"Alright, I'll heal her", Pinhead said, and within what looked like just a second, Eragon heard Saphira squeal, _Thank you, little one! Were it not for you, there would have been a good ch-_

"Er, Saphira, that wasn't me", Eragon said, and as he looked to Pinhead, he asked, "How did you heal her?"

"Easy. I looked through her body, found the anti-dragon magic, took it out, turned it into anti-human magic, and placed it into those men who were charging at you".

At that moment, Eragon heard the terrible cries of several men, some shouting, "Help! Somebody help! Please, hurry-!", and others looking up to Eragon himself, begging, "No, Shadeslayer! Please! We didn't mean to t-t-try to ki-kill you. It was all the kings f-f...", before they died. It was horrible. Eragon had slaughtered many men in battle, but not like this. _Never _like this. He turned to Pinhead, and seething with rage, he grabbed him by his leather robe and screamed, "How could you?! How could you kill them in such a disgusting way, making them die slowly? There is no honor in this!"

"I wasn't wanting honor", Pinhead simply replied, before he walked off.

_-POV change-_

If there was any of the slashers at Belatona who showed absolutely no mercy or pity, it was Pumpkinhead. As he trudged through the streets, he heard the shout of, "FIRE!", and he heard several twangs as a dozen arrows flew into him.

With a roar, he turned his body to these archers. He saw the commander yell, "FIRE AGAIN!" More arrows hit Pumpkinhead, yet all he did was walk further toward them. He was ready to show these archers what happened when you crossed Vengeance itself.

"Shoot it! Shoot it again!", the commanding archer barked, yet this time, only he fired. In an instant, Pumpkinhead grabbed the arrow between his index and thumb, flipped it around, and threw it straight through the commanders eye, and it tore through his whole head before it crashed into the wall and shattered.

Growling, Pumpkinhead grabbed one of the archers and literally crushed him down in size. He laid eyes on another archer, grabbed him, and bit his throat out before he threw him at another archer. The archer was hit by the body and killed instantly upon impact.

Kicking another archers head clean off, Pumpkinhead spun around and decapitated another in one stroke with his _tail_. The rest sprinted away without a second thought, screaming incoherently about how death itself was here, walking on two legs.

Before they all ran away, Pumpkinhead shoved his claws through one archers head before pushing another to the ground, before clawing through his chest.

As he saw the archers run to some mysterious man a few feet ahead, Pumpkinhead grabbed a swordsman dueling with a Varden soldier and threw him right at one of the archers. Both were killed on impact.

As Pumpkinhead walked to the archers, he saw the mysterious man yell, "Brisingr!", and one of the arrow tips went up in a blaze of orange light before it flew into him, exploding in a giant fireball. The man conjured two more fireballs over each palm, and threw them into the fireball. They cheered at the demise of Pumpkinhead, laughing at how the beast had been so easily slain.

That is, until the roar was heard. And with that, Pumpkinhead walked out of the flames, not only not even having a scratch on him, but he _wasn't even set on fire_.

The men screamed as Pumpkinhead came and ripped them to shreds, killed them until there was nothing left of them.

_-POV change-_

Eragon came to a stop within the courtyard. Saphira had just finished making her way through the hole she had knocked into the wall, scattering over a dozen soldiers in the process, when the red triangle-masked man ran in, hacked a spear-carriers head clean apart with an axe, and grabbed his spear. He drove it into a soldiers knee before tearing it out and driving it into his eye.

He continued on, viciously swung his axe into another soldiers head twice, before kicking him into four of his comrades, knocking them all down.

Eragon attempted to warn the man, but it was too late as several arrows flew down and cut into his side, tearing through several of his bones. The man looked up, ready to throw both his spear and axe at the archers, when another spear zipped in, impaled itself into the shoulders of two closely packed archers, before the word, "Brisingr!" was yelled, and the spear erupted into emerald green flames, burning both of the impaled archers and scattering the embers everywhere, quickly setting ablaze several men.

The man looked toward Arya, who nodded, yet the man simply shrugged before he continued, slaughtering nearly every soldier who was in his line of sight.

Eragon looked toward Arya, shocked. "How? How is he able to survive such injuries, and also continue to slaughter servants of the Empire as if though he were an Urgal?", he asked, and Arya too was left in shock. "I do not know, Eragon. I know nothing of these newcomers, yet I can tell they are no strangers to the violence and horror they wreak among the Empires' rank", she said dryly.

As Eragon turned to look back to the red triangle-masked man, he was dumbfounded as he saw the man standing over every single soldier of the Empire, their bodies butchered gorily as pools of blood formed beneath them. He heaved, seeing a single soldier flinching, before he plunged his spear into his face.

Eragon looked to Saphira, and she whined, _I did not even get to kill a single one of them!_

Arya walked up to the man, asking, "How did you manage to slay every single one of them? How could you survive all those arrows in you, and most importantly, who are you, and what are you?"

The man laughed slightly. "It's natural for me to do something like this", he said, pointing to the bodies. "And as for those arrows, well, that's also natural for me. And who and what I am? I'm Jason, Jason Voorhees."

_And what are you?_, Saphira also asked.

"A talking dragon? Well, looks like I am a far way from home. But me? I'm a slasher", he replied.

"A slasher?", Eragon repeated, wondering just what that was.

"That's right. I-", Jason was saying, but he was drowned out by several Varden, dwarves, elves, and Urgals crowding into the courtyard.

"Into the keep! Toward Lord Bradburn!", Nasuada cried, and all cheered as they ran toward the castle.

They stopped as they saw Jason was blocking their way.

"Sir, you will have to mo-", Nasuada was telling him, but Jason didn't have time for this.

"You wanna get in? Well, then, you're gonna have to be real nice, cause all these bodies you see here? All because of _me!_"

They all stood in shock, wondering how just one man managed to kill every single soldier.

"Listen to the man!", the gloved man yelled, and with that, Jason stepped aside.

"Who-?", Eragon was asking Jason.

"Freddy. Freddy Krueger", he replied, before the soldiers charged toward the giant doorway blocking, clawing at it.

Yet they all moved aside as the huge creature with the giant shoulders moved through and, with his claws, tore the doorway down as if though it were butter.

When they entered, they found not only a crowd of the Empires soldiers, yet also Bradburns Royal Guards. They charged forth, ramming into the Varden as the rebels raised their shields and swords.

Saphira blasted forth a pillar of scorching blue flames, killing all of the attacking soldiers before they could even scream. The fire burned for a couple of more seconds, before Eragon shouted, "Letta!", and the fire ceased to exist instantly.

They moved onward, coming to a stair case looked over by a strange man. He pointed at Eragon and said, "Jierda!', intending to break the Riders neck.

But instead, his whole skeleton was shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, his body essentially just becoming a flopping meat sack.

Eragon turned his head to see Pinhead, standing right beside him and out of nowhere.

"Your work?", he asked.

"Who else?", Pinhead answered replied dryly.

"Move onward! Into the heart of the keep!", Nasuada shouted, and they charged upward, onto the upper levels.

_**So, you're probably wondering-how did Jason kill every single soldier in the courtyard? Nobody could kill two hundred people by himself! Well, Jason can, so stop asking! And just how much did the slashers help at Belatona, and what will be Galbatorix's reaction to the newcomers? And just how will The Prowler adapt to a world with no guns? And why does Ghostface have a home phone with him? All shall be revealed in chapter 3-or will it? It will-or not! But it will. R&R!**_


	3. An alliance is made

_**Ideas just keep coming for this crossover! So, we've seen (SPOILER!) Jason kill around 200 soldiers by himself, and several new slashers have been thrown into Alagaesia. Yet, how will the Varden capture Belatona with the slashers' help? Will the Varden accept them? When will you stop being so lazy and find out for yourself?**_

The Varden fought hard into the heart of Lord Bradburns keep, the Empires soldiers withering under their attacks. However, it was mostly due to the presence of the newcomers, who slayed viciously and violently, dishing out death like not even an Urgal or dragon could.

Eragon saw the true power of the huge creature with enormous shoulders, as it threw a man into the stone wall, and blood instantly covered the walls. It grabbed one of Bradburns Royal Guards, and tore him vertically in half as if though he were a piece of paper.

Eragon leaped over a fallen stone pillar(collapsed by Saphira) and sank Brisingr into an unsuspecting soldiers back, before he yelled, "Brisingr!", and it burst into blue flames, spreading the fire through the mans entire body. He ripped his sword out, and slashed a Guards chest just below his collarbone. A fountain of blood shot forth into Eragons face.

Lifting his shield, he prepared to block the incoming arrows, yet it was useless as Jason ran in and, with a swing of his blade, cut all the arrows in half, causing them to fall to the ground in mid-air.

"Move to the right!", he yelled. Eragon wondered what he was talking about, when he felt his wards begin to drain away.

He looked to see a swordsman stabbing at him, instead just draining at his wards. Eragon raised his sword to block the man, when Jason rammed brutally into him, throwing the man into a pillar, and cracking his skull.

After clearing the halls, the Varden came to the throne room of Lord Bradburn, governor of Belatona. The men moved to the side as Saphira tore through the entrance door, and they burst in, filling the room only to see Bradburn himself surrounded by five Palace Guards, all shielded and more armored than any of the soldiers outside.

_Do it, Saphira_, Eragon told her, nodding.

Saphira roared as she unleashed her fiery breath, careful to not scorch Bradburn himself, yet when she stopped her breath, all saw that none of the Guards were even touched.

Eragon realized these men must be more warded and otherwise magically protected than all else. He attempted to figure out a solution, some spell to get past the wards, when he saw The Creeper take out his two blades, walk up, and simply slay all five of the Guards in just around two seconds. The bodies dropped faster than Eragon could blink.

"Get away, monster! You and your Varden are not welcome here, and you can take your Urgals and masked maniacs and"-, Bradburn roared, when The Creeper grabbed him by the back of his head, slammed him against the floor three times, and threw him at Eragon.

It was only by pure chance and reaction time that Eragon caught Bradburn, otherwise, the governor would have knocked him off his balance. The man screamed, "No! Let me go! Help me! Get your dirty hands off me, rebel, get away! Somebody he-!"

He was silenced when a white masked, huge man raised his foot and kicked Bradburn in the head, knocking him out cold.

Eragon shot him a nasty look, so as to ask how he could have killed the man, before the masked man replied, "Geez, calm down! I just knocked the little bastard out, nothing harmful!"

_-POV change-_

After Bradburn had reawakened and been subdued, Nasuada sat in his throne, her trusted adviser Jörmundur sitting in the seat to her left, and Bradburn to her right. Saphira had resorted to somewhere in the keep, due to her not being able to fit in most of the throne room, and to rest after the battle, especially after the effects of the Dauthdaert.

The bulk of the Varden lay crowded in the room, primarily to wait for the return of the newcomers. There was much muttering, and Eragon saw Roran, though his cousin did not catch him in sight. Eragon remembered Jason telling him about how he and the other newcomers had to step out to gather any fallen weapons they liked, as well as to discuss the recent events.

As they waited, Eragon saw Jörmundur lean over and whisper something to Nasuada, who simply nodded. Bradburn appeared displeased, and his face reeked of false superiority and sneering derision. From the moment he saw the man, Eragon had taken a disliking to the man.

Listening more intently, Eragon heard Nasuada sigh, "If we can but gain these strange beings' support..."

"Yet what will they want from our resources in return?", Jörmundur grumbled, appearing more wary than usual after a battle.

Yet all fell silent as they heard three trumpets of the Varden sound outside, and the doors to the room opened. A young flaxen-haired page walked in, wearing the standard symbol of the Varden, a white dragon holding a rose over a downward-pointing sword in a purple field. He cleared his throat before he started speaking.

"The newcomers, the men who fell from the portal, the slashers, are arriving now to hold an audience with the bulk of our forces in this room, and with the leader of our forces".

"That would be me", Nasuada silently spoke.

There was a mumble and whisper hear and there of the word _slashers_, and the name sounded quite odd to Eragon as well.

The page stepped aside, and with that, they all saw Jason move through the crowd and into the throne room, now carrying a bow and a strapped draw-string quiver filled with arrows, possibly retrieved from a fallen Imperial archer.

The man named Freddy Krueger walked in, his clawed glove still dripping with blood, and his shirt appearing torn and slashed on the chest.

Pinhead came in next, seeming to carry a pride for the pins in his tattooed head, and the enormous slashes on his torso. Many shuddered at his appearance.

Candyman walked in, followed by the white masked man who had knocked out Bradburn. Right behind him was The Creeper, and with one glance, Bradburns face seethed with rage as he saw the beast.

They were followed by a grimy individual wearing an odd leather mask, and carrying a sledgehammer and some huge bladed weapon, unlike any he had seen before, with a chain and teeth on it. It looked even more menacing than any sword of the Riders Eragon had seen.

And finally, three more individuals came:one a very tall old man in a some sort of suit, the huge creature, and some sort of living doll, who the Varden had to lower their heads to see, for it was only several inches tall, shorter than even any of the dwarves.

"Introduce yourselves, newcomers", Nasuada said, the room going quite again, and Jason nodded.

"I'm Jason, Jason Voorhees. These are my friends Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers, Pinhead, Leatherface, Tall Man, Candyman, Chucky, Creeper, and Pumpkinhead", he said, motioning to each of them as he spoke their names.

"And just what are you, if I may know? I have seen you all survive wounds that would kill a regular man, seeing you look quite human, and you have killed men of the Empire with such ease and quickness, it appears killing is your nature", Nasuada wondered to them, and Jason nodded.

"Killing is indeed in our nature, as we all are, after all, slashers. Killing is the easiest thing for us", he replied, a look of worry and disgust coming over many of the people faces.

"Slashers? Just what is that? I have never heard of such a creature", she asked.

"We're characters from slasher films, duh! Don't you go to the movies, like, ever?", Chucky said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. It irritated Eragon.

"Slasher films? Movies?", Jörmundur questioned, a puzzled look coming over his, Eragons, and Nasuadas faces.

"Wait a minute-you don't have any movies here?!", Chucky gasped. Freddy slapped his forehead.

"Of course they don't, idiot! Can't yous see these people live in the stone age?", Freddy scolded, and at the hearing of stone age, the people in the room got angry looks on their faces.

"Well, let me explain", Jason said, and he quickly told them what a film was, and then, the concept of a slasher film.

"So-you're all basically characters from "movies"? And you kill people?", Nasuada worriedly asked. Eragon grew worried as well. These were basically people who killed adolescents for the fun of it!

"Well, yeah. But I know what you're thinking-just how did we get here?", Jason replied, not seeming to care for the worried looks on their faces.

"Well, you see, it all started when, Freddy, Michael, and I were walking around, looking for something to do, when all the rest came, and told us they had found a portal in the woods while they were hiking. When we came, the portal grew these energy tentacles before they pulled us in, and now it looks like we're stuck here", he continued.

Nasuada nodded at this, ready to ask another question, when it was her turn to be questioned.

"Now-just who are you?", Jason asked her.

"I am Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad, and leader of the rebel faction you see here, the Varden", she answered. "And this is Eragon Shadeslayer, a Dragon Rider and the first since The Fall, Jörmundur, my trusted adviser and senior commander, and Lord Bradburn, governor of Belatona, which we have just captured."

"Rebel? Fall? Who or what are you exactly rebelling against?", Pinhead asked, and Nasuada sighed, and a sadness seemed to come over her face.

"Galbatorix. He was a Dragon Rider, yet he was over-confident and too proud. One night, he camped with his dragon, two companions, and their dragons. Urgals came and slaughtered all but Galbatorix. He came to the order, and begged for a new egg, yet he had grown more insane by that time, and they refused. Enraged, he gathered 13 followers and their dragons, called the Forsworn, stole a black dragon, named him Shruikan, and killed his Rider. He then waged a war and slayed every dragon and their Rider, right down to the leader named Vrael, and killed the former human king of this land, King Angrenost, took his crown, and claimed himself king of the Broddring Kingdom, and renamed it the Empire."

They all stood silent for several moments, though it was broken when Bradburn started speaking.

"Oh, please! Galbatorix killed the Riders for good, since they were unnatural muck, and they thought they were the big and strong keepers of the land, and-"

"Shut your goddamn mouth, douchebag!", Chucky cried out. "Can't you see nobody asked you to speak, and nobody likes you?"

Bradburns face went red, as he hissed and began muttering under his breath. The Creeper chuckled, and the governor noticed and he glared angrily.

"Pardon me, not meaning to interrupt or anything, but seriously? Why can't you just send someone or a team of people to assassinate this King Galbatorix? From what you recounted, he seems like a psychotic, power-hungry dickhead. Surely, a knife to the eyeball or arrow to the head would put him in his place, right?", Candyman asked.

"It is not so simple. Galbatorix is perhaps the most powerful spellcaster here in Alagaesia, with untold reserves of energy to fuel his magic. He has also placed perhaps thousands of wards, protective spells if you don't know of wards, on himself, and his military has grown by the thousands each year. And since he is a former Rider, he now has an extended longevity bordering upon immortality", Nasuada explained to them. "Now, tell us about yourselves, Jason".

"What do you mean?", he asked her.

"Tell about yourselves. Your-er, characters in your "movies".

"Alright, then. I was born in 1946 to Pamela and Elias Voorhees. My mother killed my father Elias and gave birth to me at Crystal Lake, where I would go to the camp, Camp Crystal Lake, as my other was a cook there. The other children bullied me due to my physical deformities, as well as due to my inability to swim. One night, while the counselors were having sex and getting drunk and stoned, I drowned after trying to swim. My mother, being enraged, took a knife and slaughtered two of the counselors. 21 years after, several teens tried to open Camp Crystal Lake back up, but my mom, well, let's just say she wouldn't let them. The only surviving one of them took my machete here"-he raised his blade- "and decapitated my mom. From then on, I killed teens and anybody who got in my way at Crystal Lake, to avenge my mom and myself."

"What physical deformities?", Eragon asked, and Jason replied, "Well, now that you asked, I guess I _can _show you", he replied, and with that, he slipped his mask off.

Jason's face was more than hideous. It was inhuman. It looked more like a pulled back, leathery brown skull than a face, and the right upper part was twisted, and his lips were practically not there. His nose was turned up, and his teeth were jutting and nearly showing, even though Jason's mouth was sealed.

The people in the room were left aghast by this, and it came as a sign of relief when Jason put his mask back on. Eragon relayed the sight of Jason's face to Saphira, and she said,_Whether he was born like this or not, Eragon, there is no mistake he kills to make himself feel accepted._

"Can the others tell about themselves?", Nasuada asked.

"Very well then. That is, if they can talk", Jason answered, pointing to Pumpkinhead, Creeper, and Leatherface. "They can't".

It took around 6 minutes for them all to introduce themselves to the Varden, starting with Freddy after Jason, and finally ending with Pumpkinhead.

"So...he can't be even harmed?", Nasuada said, and Jason nodded in replied, while Pumpkinhead growled in response.

Eragon relayed the introductions to Saphira, who told him, _Well, if that is what they are, then they're worse than any Shade or Ra'zac! They basically live to slaughter with the utmost impunity, and they seem to do the best at murdering!_

_But they seem to be our best bet_, Eragon replied to her.

"Now, we have something to ask you and your friends, Jason-will you, all of you, join the Varden, and in the process, topple Galbatorix?", Nasuada asked them, and the slashers seemed to mull over the question, before Michael responded, "What's in it for us?"

"What do you want in return for joining?", Nasuada asked them.

"We want all information on this land and its citizens, the history, and material to forge new signature weapons of ours, if out current ones get destroyed or damaged beyond recovery, or lost", Jason told them. "We'd also like our own camp and a warm, cooked meal every morning, noon, and night. We don't need showers or cleaned clothes, mind you. We also need to find a way back to our own world."

Nasuada, Eragon, Arya, and Jörmundur took this in, and Eragon asked them, "Do we have enough metal and blunt materials for their weapons?"

"We'd have to ask the dwarves", Arya answered. Nasuada nodded.

"That is a steep price you have set there, Jason . What may you deliver in return for our services?", Nasuada said.

"Total and utter domination of the battlefield", Tall Man replied. "We slashers can keep striving forward even with a knife in our eyes and several arrows in our faces and chests, likely creating confusion among the enemies ranks. We are capable of slaughtering several dozen soldiers in a single minute, without remorse, mercy, pity, or love. We can cover your soldiers and keep most of them alive, while the enemies numbers decrease by at least 40 in a single span."

Saphira heard through Eragon and told him, Arya, Nasuada, and Jörmundur, _If I may say, it is an offer we cannot refuse. They certainly have it in their nature to kill, and if what this "Tall Man" is saying is true, then these slashers could be our most invaluable allies against the king._

Nasuada seemed to agree. "Well, then, I must say, I accept your offers, and I am glad to add you as allies to the Varden, all of you."

Yet there was no applause. The Varden seemed to look upon the slashers as if though they were scum, when Martland Redbeard burst into the room, an angry scowl upon his face.

"My lady", he growled, "I caught these honor-less scoundrels walking around, murdering captured and wounded Imperial soldiers. It took a while for my men and I to round them up. They didn't seem to want to stop killing!"

9 oddly dressed individuals were thrust in, the second largest of them roaring, "Let me go, damn Englishmen! I have the American right to resist your pansy little fish-and-chips eating asses! Let me go!"

"Prowler? Miner? Ghostface? What are you all doing here?", Jason asked.

"You know them?", Nasuada said.

"Well, yeah. They're also slashers, and we all know each other-"

"_How did we get here?_ Well, first, my idiot son"-he motioned to a man wearing some of the oddest clothing Eragon had seen- "forgot to bring the map, and we got lost in a forest while hiking, and then some blue-"

"Portal?", Chucky falsely asked, in a dry tone.

"How do you know, Chucky?", a man with some metallic skull mask demanded.

"Because, that's how we came here", Jason told them.

"You 9-what is your reason for killing the captured and wounded?", Nasuada demanded from them vehemently.

"Cause, they're the enemy-do I honestly need any better reason?", the second largest man smirked. Something told Eragon that this man would be incredibly difficult to get along with.

_Still, that is not a good reason to kill those who are already captured. It is not wise to kick a man while he is down_, Saphira chastised toward the man.

"Wait a minute-who the hell just said that?", the man asked, looking around.

"It is my dragon, Saphira. You can't see her because she is another room, somewhere in the keep", Eragon answered.

"Wait, a talking dragon? But I though dragons were just huge, fat, dumbass reptiles with wings and really disgusting breath!", the man cried out. The people of the Varden in the room gasped in shock, and the elves appeared enraged.

Arya walked over to the man, anger evident on her red face. "Were you a servant of the Empire, I would instantly strike you down and incinerate you! How could you be so rude and disrespect-"

The man raised his right hand and slapped Arya across the face, the impact knocking her off balance. Blödhgarm and Eragons eleven other elven guards were almost about to rush to the man and tear him apart, were it not for Eragon restraining them.

"How dare you! I am the elven princess, and-!"

"And nothing! A soldier of lower rank does not speak to a superior officer with such disobedience! That made clear to your pointy ears, recruit?!", the man snarled mockingly. Eragon and Martland helped Arya up, though she brushed them off, and stormed back up the front of Nasuada.

"Who are you?!", Nasuada demanded.

"Me? I'm The Prowler, with more experience than any of you sword-twirling pussies will ever have! And them, they're Ghostface, Chromeskull, Madman Marz, the three Killbots, Cropsy, and my son, The Miner, the one who got us in this mess!", The Prowler said, pointing to each slasher as they were mentioned.

"Shut up, dad!", The Miner muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, an odd beeping noise was heard. "Sir, there seems to be a focal point of living activity outside this building", one of the Killbots droned.

"What do you mean, machine?", The Prowler asked.

"Wait-_machine? _But, but-machines aren't supposed to be intelligent! They're not even supposed to be this complex!", Eragon cried, and the man named Cropsy chuckled and said, "Guess you all live in the middle ages!"

"Some sort of living entity-multiple entities-moving outside, exerting high levels of radiation and other energies which I have not felt before", the Killbot replied.

"Then what are we waiting for? We have to go see what's going down outside!", Freddy said, and the Varden exited the keep.

_-POV change-_

Galbatorix was usually chillingly calm, even in moments of anxiety and doubt. He was always able to mask his frustration and anger, for most of the time.

This was not the time.

"_**What do you mean, my entire army was basically decimated at Belatona?!"**_, the king raged at the top of his lungs. His face was contorted, his lips twisted in an animal-like snarl.

One of the few Imperials, a spellcaster, to both survive Belatona and escape, quaked at his masters unnatural rage, as he shared his memories of the battle with Galbatorix.

"Y-y-ye-yes, sir! Most of the army w-w-was k-k-ki-killed or c-c-captured and -"

"_HOW?!_", Galbatorix roared.

Galbatorix was no stranger to losing battles. In fact, after the loss of Feinster, he jokingly began thinking which city Varden was going to capture next. However, here, at Belatona, his whole army stationed there was, in all sense, destroyed. Around 9,000 men, and most killed or wounded and captured, while the Varden had only around 2,000 soldiers, yet had suffered _very, very _few losses at Belatona. Even with Eragon and Saphira being there, it was incredibly unnatural.

"How could they have suffered next to nothing, while my army there was obliterated?!", the king asked, yet it was more of a high-pitched scream.

"W-w-well, sir, there are some more memories of the battle I must share with you", the spellcaster stuttered, and with that, he showed Galbatorix his memories of the portal, and the odd newcomers, and how they withstood terrible punishment despite clearly having no wards, and how they viciously slaughtered the Empires men without stopping or caring.

"I cannot believe it..", Galbatorix gasped, and he screamed as he threw his sword, Vrangr, into the wall, and he heaved, his face growing cross, tense, and as red as blood. He looked up, and went to go take out Vrangr, when a messenger burst in.

"My lord, one of our spies has just learned the werecats have allied with the Varden, along with the 19 newcomers".

"19? But I only saw 10!", the spellcaster said.

"It appears there are now more", the messenger replied. "And the total body-count has been added up:the Varden have 75 casualties, while our forces have sustained around 9,000, our total forces at Belatona. The city has also been captured in full".

"75, out of 2,000? _Only?_", Galbatorix whined. He put his hands in his head, and muttered to himself, before he looked up, and hissed, "My patience is wearing thin! Find Commander Ramlonear, the only commander to escape Belatona, and tell him to gather 992 soldiers and eight spellcasters, and tell him to not stop and rest until they come to Belatona, win it back, and slay every Varden, except Eragon and Saphira:bring them alive".

"What of the newcomers, my king?", the messenger asked.

"Tell him to bring every single one of them as well", the king answered. "Now get to it!"

The messenger nodded and bowed before he scurried out, and the king paced for a while, before he stopped and thought to himself:_What if I can open a similar portal, and take several others similar to the newcomers? And get them to __**my**__ side?_

Galbatorix grinned to himself.

That idea could actually be more useful than even learning the name of the Ancient Language.

_**And so the slashers have allied with the Varden. But it looks like the Varden don't really like the slashers' company. And yeah, the werecats have also allied with the Varden like in the "King Cat" chapter, but I already wrote one alliance scene, so that's enough. And just how will Galbatorix try to open a portal and get slashers of his own? And how will anyone stand The Prowler at all? R&R, and you shall see. That is, if I feel like it!:)**_


	4. Defending Belatona

_**So, now that I've finished up the tenth chap. for CTE, I can finally get back to this story. I ended the last chapter with something of a cliff-hanger, though it provided spoilers to Inheritance, so read that before you start hating it and reading this. Now, the slashers are allied with the Varden and their allies, and Galbatorix has sent a 1,000 strong army to take back Belatona. What will happen? Read for yourself, and quit asking me!**_

Eragon walked toward Arya, when he heard the man named The Prowler rudely snort, "These werecats look like a bunch of pussy Chinese commie imports! What the hell are a bunch of morphin' house cats gonna do?" He obviously intended for everyone to hear, though, and many,especially the werecats themselves, shot him a nasty look, and pointed and whispered.

Eragon instead turned to the person named Madman Marz and asked, "Is there any way to make this bastard quit being suck a jerk?" However, it was the man named Chromeskull who replied, "Marz-he can't really talk."

Eragon groaned, and whined the same question to Chromeskull.

"He's that way. Prowler, he doesn't like anything or anybody really. There's no way you can make the guy happy, and he'll always shoot an insult pointing out how inferior you are. But it's not a really good idea to insult him back, or heaven forbid, you get in a fight with him!"

Eragon groaned again, and he kept walking around, when Saphira told him, _Eragon! I saw them! They're coming through two routes, into Belatona!_

_Who? Who is coming, Saphira?_, Eragon asked, when she landed, and said, in an out-of-breath manner, _Galbatorix-he has sent several soldiers to take back Bealtona!_

Eragon gasped, and asked how many there were.

_More than 600, at the very least!_, she replied.

He ran to Nasuada, Orik, and Jörmundur, and told them what Saphira had replied.

"What?! More soldiers? But, why? Galbatorix has never sent someone to take ba-," Nasuada said, only for Orik to guess something.

"Some soldier or spellcaster or spy of the Empire must have escaped, and told Galbatorix everything! He must have even told them of these new allies, the slashers! No wonder he would try to get Belatona back-after his army's horrendous performance here, he probably thought it was unfair, and is getting his revenge!"

"Spread the word, all of you!," Nasuada cried, and they nodded as they ran around and shouted the warning of the Empire's reinforcements.

"I don't give a shit about why this loser's sending more guys-if he wants a battle, we'll give him a bloodbath!," Michael raged, and Freddy, Chucky, and the Tall Man followed at his heels, while Pumpkinhead roared angrily as Pinhead and Candyman followed at his side.

"I honestly don't have much of a clue of what's going on, but if we're gonna be killing those red bathrobe wearin' fags, then it looks like it's my chance to give them their just desserts! They gave me this wound on my left ankle," The Prowler said, and he opened a tear on his pants to reveal a huge, bright red, glossy slash.

"Sir, you are in no condition to be fight-," Nasuada was telling him, when he snarled and said, "You're not gonna be the one to give me orders, dammit!"

_-POV change-_

The Miner walked up over to the elf, who the man named Eragon said was named Arya. His mouth went dry as she looked into her eyes, and he asked her, "A-are y-y-you okay?" Once those words left his mouth, he cursed in his mind, hissing _Good lord! The moment those words left my mouth, I already made myself look like a complete idiot!_

She glared coldly at him, sneering, "I'm fine! Now get out of my way!"

But Miner didn't get out of her way. He instead sighed, "Look, I know my father-"

"Your father, is perhaps the most rude, dishonorable, and _STUPID _person I have met! I feel sorry for you, having to live with that vulgar drunk!," Arya raged, and she shoved Miner out of the way.

Just then, one of the really short people with beards rushed over, screaming, "THE EMPIRE IS SENDING MORE SOLDIERS! MORE SOLDIERS ARE GOING TO ATTACK! GET INTO YOUR BATTLE POSISTIONS!"

He saw men shouting as they scrambled for their weapons, hurrying for their shields as they rushed past him, tense looks on their faces.

"What the _hell _is going on? What Empire?," The Miner cried, and several men gave him sneering glances, before they turned and ran forward.

"Galbatorix. It appears he is most displeased with his loss here, and has come to reclaim it," Arya said, before she ran forward at a speed The Miner was incapable of comprehending.

"Just what the hell is a Galbatorix? Could somebody please explain anything to me here?," Miner roared, and a nearby woman, with one of the large "werecats" by her side, tsked as she shook her head.

"Galbatorix isn't a _thing_, he is a person, albeit a cruel and mad one, you idiot! He is the reason the people of this land are suffer-," she was lecturing, when The Prowler stepped in and grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Hey, woman, you don't call my damn son an idiot! Only I can tell him that he is an idiot, and you have no such right! Now, get the hell out of here, 'cause this ain't a place for women! And while you're at it, take your damn kitt-"

"You will find I am much more capable than even you in combat," Angela sneered, as she pulled her Hûthvír out and aimed at The Prowler's heart, yet he caught here wrist and flung her, before he kicked the werecat in the jaw.

_Shit, dad, why do you have to do this kind of shit in front of me?!_, The Miner thought to himself, as his father pointed toward him and barked, "You! Son! Quit standin', and get your ass out there! We've gotta help these Englishmen kill those robe-wearin' faggots wandering! It'd be 'bout time you got your self into something useful for once!"

"Fine, dad," The Miner muttered under his breath, as he pulled out his pickaxe and looked upon Arya, and for a brief moment, her emerald eyes looked into his own. It was only for a second before she gave him a disgusted look and turned away.

He hated his father for this.

_-Later On-_

Eragon looked upon the two contingents of Imperials, 500 in each crowd. The right one(Eragon's left) was marching toward the iron tunnel leading into Belatona, where they would enter the city from. The left one(Eragon's right) was marching instead toward the sturdy gravel hills, which they would climb upon before leaping down, as well as position most of their archers.

"Why can't your dragon, Saphira, simply set them ablaze?," Pinhead asked him, and Eragon shook his head as he answered, "I have reached my mind out and felt that these men are all warded to such an extreme, Saphira's fire can go for at least 10 minutes, and their wards would not even be drained by a quarter. It appears Galbatorix has sent some his most potent spellweavers and magicians with them as well."

"And that's a _problem_?," Candyman mockingly sneered. He closed his eyes as he parted open his heavy coat, and revealed he had no stomach:it was just a rotting ribcage filled with nothing but bees, which buzzed through the air before they began joining the bees coming out of his mouth, and a swarm of perhaps millions of them zipped out, and swarmed over at least 300 of the 500 soldiers in the left group of the Empires soldiers.

Near instantly, screams of unimaginable terror and utter pain were heard as around 300 of the soldiers in the left group were swarmed over and getting quickly stung to death. The 200 or so who survived ran for their lives and crowded into the right group. The bees only focused on the left group.

Jason was trying at the same time to think up a way to mix medieval/magical and slasher-oriented tactics, yet with no success. He realized that if he didn't come up with something soon, the surviving 700 or so Imperials would charge through the tunnel and catch them all unprepared.

He quickly grabbed Candyman and turned him to face himself. "Candyman, you have to go with the three Killbots and get atop that right hill, which is our left. Tell The Prowler, Creeper, Tall Man, and Pinhead to get to the top of that left hill to our right, and tell them to take archers with them!"

"But why-?"

"Just do it!," Jason roared, and Candyman nodded as he ran to the others. Jason was intending to get those slashers who had ranged attacks atop the two hills with some archers, so the soldiers would be slaughtered in mass droves when they first came out of the tunnel, and not expect it. He _hoped _it would work.

_-POV change-_

Eragon ordered there to be 200 soldiers in front of each hill and in to the the sides of the tunnel. 80 Varden and Surdans, 50 dwarves, 30 elves, 20 Urgals, and 20 werecats. He had seen four slashers position themselves atop the hills, along with several archers and dartsmen. He looked to see Roran standing around as if though nothing was even happening.

"Roran! I though I told you to stand behind Arya and I and in front of the men alongside Pumpkinhead!," he roared to his cousin, whose face twisted in disgust.

"I"m telling you, Eragon! I am _not _standing near that blasted abomination!," Roran spat.

"Either do what Eragon tells you to, or I shall have you executed for insubordination and attempted betrayal!," Nasuada suddenly threatened, and Roran cursed violently as he stomped to where Pumpkinhead was standing.

"Are you ready?," Eragon asked, looking toward Arya. She nodded. Eragon and Arya were to stand in front of the rest of the soldiers and in front of the tunnel, ready to fire their arrows into the swarm of Imperial soldiers that he knew would be charging outward soon.

Just then, Jason ran up and shoved them aside, before he stood right between them. He looked to them and said, out of breath, "You're not gonna stand here by yourselves! There's a good chance most of the soldiers won't make it past the the archers and ranged slasher on the hills, but just in case-," and with that, he pulled out his bow and strung an arrow into it.

"Very well," Arya told him, when suddenly, an enormous _BOOOOOOM _was heard, and the ground shook. From the tunnel, several flaming granite shards flew out.

"They've managed to blow down the granite wall! They're coming soon now! Everybody, get into positions _NOW!_," Nasuada cried, and all of the soldiers of the Varden gathered behind her. The spear-carriers lifted their shields high in front of their chests and shoulders as they crouched, holding their spears out and at ready.

It wasn't long before the first couple of arrows, bees, Sentinels, chains, and lasers were fired as the first dozen or so of the incoming Imperials charged out of the tunnel. They were either shot, covered with bees, maimed in some gruesome way by the Sentinels, torn through, or simply splattered across the tunnel and surrounding area, and a couple of times, it was all that combined. And if the soldiers were lucky, it was in _that _order.

Many arrows were lit with flames-either mundane or magically-and some soldiers were shot with nothing but flaming arrows, so much to the point that their flaming guts and entrails were blown out and their blood was made flammable.

Bright flashes of light that blinded Eragon's eyes and cracking blasts that rang his eardrums were seen and heard as The Prowler used some incredibly bizarre yet equally advanced weapon to blow up heads as if though they were parchment and armor and helmets as if they were the softest of wool. He thought he heard the slasher _laughing _as his odd weapon scattered men and blew them to pieces.

As Eragon looked to the ground, he saw there were not many bodies, and instead just guts and torn off limbs strewn all over the place. The bodies that remained in one piece were either burning up or mangled, stung, and crushed to the point they didn't even look recognizably human anymore.

As he stared at the remains, Eragon heard multiple and rapid twangs, but they weren't from any of the archers on the hill. They were much closer, and as he looked, he saw Jason and Arya firing their own arrows at soldiers who had managed to run past the men on the hills.

He added his own fire as the men who made it past the hill-soldiers increased, though several came incredibly close to them. If they did, though, it was easy to use the melee weapons to kill those up-close. Several did so to Jason, only for him to hack one of their heads off with his machete, while two soldiers in a row-one behind the other-were duly impaled on his spear. In Jason's hands, the spear tore through armor and flesh with more power and ease than it looked like it ever would in the hands of a regular man.

Three swordsmen ran up to Eragon before he could fire arrows at them, and as one of them struck out his sword, the other two moved their swords over their shields which they raised in front of their chests as they moved at a slower pace toward Eragon.

He blocked the incoming blow with Brisingr, and shouted, "Brisingr!," and the sword flared up in blue flames, and as it did so, the magical fire quickly moved down the regular sword, before it began to eat away at the swordsman's right hand.

He screamed as he tried to use a part of his red tunic to snuff out the fire, but it simply set it ablaze as well. Eragon stopped the flames on Brisingr before he swerved the sapphire sword and used it to cut through the shields and blades of the remaining two swordsmen, before he shredded through the swordsmen themselves.

He turned to Arya and Jason, and saw them looking to several soldiers who had even escaped their arrows. But woe be unto those poor Imperials. They now had to deal with Roran and _Pumpkinhead_. The vengeance demon shrieked viciously as it batted one soldier aside with so much strength, several bones went flying out of him before he hit the ground with a nasty _splat_. The creature's claws tore through the stomach of a nearby archer, and his blood gushed out like water from a spring. However, he simply looked at his the wounds, from which the guts were beginning to fall out, and smirked.

_Oh, no_, Eragon thought to himself as he realized this man, along with probably many other soldiers of the Empire here, were immune to pain.

The man didn't even get a chance to stand up, though, as Pumpkinhead tore through his throat, and though the Laughing Dead were thought to only be able to be killed by decapitations or blood-loss, they still needed to breath, and this man was no different as he wheezed before he fell forward into his own guts.

Likewise, the soldier Pumpkinhead batted aside tried to get up and shamble back toward him, only for Roran to brain the man with his hammer several times in rapid succession. He hammered the jaw of another incoming swordsman and caved in the face a nearby axeman, before smashing in both the eyes of a rapier-wielder.

The remaining group of soldiers running toward them(which consisted of only 6 other soldiers) turned and ran, but not before Pumpkinhead ripped off the arms of one of them and beat the man with his own limbs.

One of the Killbots beeped and droned, "Trajectory fission missile prepared to fire in 12 seconds toward 15 feet ahead," and it rumbled before it's "chest"(or so to speak), clicked and opened, revealing an eerie halo of glowing red light, which turned yellow before some sort of object, around 5 inches long, 3 inches wide, and shaped like some metal cylinder, zoomed out at breath taking speeds and slammed into the ground at the feet of one of the feeling soldiers who had attacked Pumpkinhead and Roran.

The moment it hit the ground, it burst outward in a flash of red light, expanding for at least 18 feet before vanishing. Eragon and Arya gasped as they saw what remained of the soldiers caught in the shock-wave, and Orik muttered, "What, in the holy name of Gûntera-!"

The soldiers had been entirely stripped of their flesh, hair, armor, clothing, and muscle, and had been reduced to charred and soot-blackened skeletons. The bodies and severed heads and limbs had been affected likewise, while the splattered guts had been turned to dust.

"ONWARD!," an Imperial cried, and the men behind him charged forward, not caring as they stepped on the bodies of their own men. Some were torn up by the men upon the hills, while many were still felled by the arrows of Arya, Eragon, and Jason. But they cared not as they came closer and closer to Pumpkinhead and Roran, their swords and spears extended and ready to tear through the heart.

_-POV change-_

The bullets tore into the sun-bleached sand, men screaming and crying as the bullets from the machine gun nests shredded them apart. The sand turned red with blood, and the stench of decaying flesh grew pound by pound as many more, in just a few seconds, were slain.

He crawled through the sand, his left hand clutching his helmet, while in his right hand was a

Colt M1911A1. However, he didn't get the chance to pull the trigger. He was simply trying to get from the shore to the center of the mainland without getting a single bullet in him. He was barely able to move because of the continuous peppering of the 7.92-MM that hit the sand and all too many unfortunate times, the men next to him.

Suddenly, the bullets near him stopped. He saw his chance and scampered like a rat that nearly got splattered in a rat-trap, and everywhere he moved, the bullets stopped. It was like a miracle as he saw he was only several dozen feet from the center mainland.

That's when he heard the shout.

"_**GRENADE!," **_and without a second warning, the blast wiped out all other noise and caused his ears to ring. Wind tore off his helmet, and he was lifted off the ground and hurled onto a pile of overturned and ravaged machine guns in the nest.

He couldn't see, but he did raise his hand to his ear, and he could smell blood on it. He touched the area on his collar bone, and it felt wet as he could smell a greater amount of blood on that area. He tried to cry for help, yet it came as wheezing, dry cough. He croaked as he lifted his arm for help...

The Prowler suddenly snapped out of his daydream, and he looked around him. He saw the same red-robed men, many of them in a pack charging toward Pumpkinhead and the guy with the ugly hammer. He could tell that even Pumpkinhead, and no doubt that guy, were going to get overwhelmed by the sheer size of the troop, and so he tapped Tall Man on the shoulder.

"What?," Tall Man snapped, his right eyebrow raised as he glared at The Prowler. "This better be meaningful, boy!"

"We jump down," Prowler replied, and Tall Man gazed at the ground below the hill. "You must be kidding."

"No kidding included," The Prowler smirked.

"But-"

"Either you come with me, or I'll rip your damn ass clean off and shove it up your dick! That's a promise, to make sure, and I never once broke a damn promise!," The Prowler snarled. The Tall Man looked back down, before he looked back up to Prowler, and hissed, "Fine, but I'll only be doing this so your filthy hands won't have to so much as touch my buttocks!"

Prowler looked to see several more of these stone-age, sword twirling hacks were helping Pumpkinhead and the hammer guy, but all of them, even Pumpkinhead, were getting overwhelmed quickly.

_You have to kill the magician helping them_, a voice suddenly said in his head.

"What?! Who, who-who the hell just said-?!"

"It was me!," a young man shouted, and Prowler looked over to see the young boy who had been firing arrows with the dumb, pointy-eared girl he had slapped and with Jason.

"Wait-so you contacted me through my mind?!," The Prowler yelled back at him. How _dare _some little whorish teen with a light-up sword invade his own _mind_, much less his very privacy.

"Er-yes," the boy awkwardly replied.

"Let me teach you something about humility, boy!," The Prowler snorted, and pointed to Tall Man and said, "We jump down-_now!_" He had said it so loudly, the Imperials looked to see him, but before they could look at his position on the hill, Prowler and Tall Man had already leaped down. Somewhere behind him, Prowler could hear the screeching death throes of a man being crushed by Tall Man's fall.

Prowler walked over to the boy first, though, letting Tall Man do his own thing. Shoving Jason and the pointed-eared girl aside, he swiftly kicked the boy in the balls. Then he turned around, but what he saw was something different.

Instead of the red-robed Imperials, he saw fellow comrades getting shot up or speared by bullets and bayonets, all from the Germans and Japanese. They were grinding his American friends-people he had fought with for 3 years-into dust, slaughtering them like lambs. He witnessed two of them getting blown to pieces by a grenade.

If there was anyone who was going to teach them a thing or two about humility and fear, it would be _him_. No one else could do it the right way.

_-POV change-_

Eragon felt as if though his balls had been set on fire from within. His face tightened, and his eyes bulged and watered, making them look like boiled egg-whites. His guts cringed, as his lower body felt like bleeding. He bit into his tongue, and oh so quickly, he soon tasted blood in his mouth.

He turned his head and saw the man named The Prowler, the slasher who had kicked him in the groin. His eyes twisted with contempt in regards to the man, and Saphira laughed to him, _Perhaps next time, you should learn to talk to people like a normal person, rather than just invade a man's privacy!_

_Shut up, Saphira!_, Eragon groaned telepathically to her. He could hear her growl of detest, but otherwise, she said nothing back.

Yet for all his brash rudeness and venomous hostility, Eragon just couldn't deny The Prowler's prowess in physical combat. He first shoved a _pitchfork _through a man's stomach and back, when the armor should have prevented such a mere and simple farm tool from penetrating. He lifted the man and twisted the pitchfork, before he tore it out and, by sheer _accident_, in the process of doing so tore apart a nearby spear-carrier's forehead.

He then proceeded to repeatedly gut another soldier with the pitchfork before he brained him with his fist, caving in his helmet and crushing him into the ground. Taking out his bizarre weapon(the one he had used on the hill), he quickly attached some odd large blade onto it and grabbed an archer, pulling him forward while shoving the blade of the weapon into his gut at the same time, before the weapon uttered it's loud and bright bang and flash, and blood erupted from the archers back before it entered a rapier-wielders torso, blowing it up in a flash of viscera.

The weapon went into use again, blowing up a head and forehead, before it fired off into a nearby swordsman's chest, and then entered the chest of another soldier just around three feet right behind him. Smoke rose from the gory remains.

"H-h-_how? _My wards and constant spells fueled to protect them-," a man suddenly moaned, and from his red tunic with the gold flame on it, it was obvious he was of the Empire.

"You the magician protecting this scum?," The Prowler asked, and the man bitterly asked in reply, "What if I am?!"

"Then you get to meet it," The Prowler sneered, and he pulled the blade off the weapon and ran forward before slashing the magicians throat. His lifeless body crumpled in a heap. With this, Pumpkinhead didn't waste time in exploiting the soldiers' sudden weaknesses without the magician's help.

Eragon stumbled as he got up, and as he did so, he saw one of the Tall Man's so called "Sentinels"-this one being gold and gray-open a small square hole in the center before it unleashed a searing torrent of yellow flames, the men thrashing before they succumbed to their wounds.

He saw Blödhgarm and three of his elven spellweavers in mental combat with another magician, as evident by the increasing strains and looks of angry desperation crossing their faces. The magician grew pale as he narrowed his eyes, only for another Sentinel to bump into his head on purpose. The magician gasped, before his face grew sickly pale-more so than before-and he rasped, before his eyes closed and he collapsed to the ground. A second later, he stopped breathing and died.

Eragon fully stood, but still wobbled a bit due to the pain from The Prowler's groin attack. As he thought it over, he saw The Prowler step in front of the tunnel, and he took his helmet and cloth rag off, revealing the hair and face of a man well over 50. Eragon couldn't understand how such an old appearing man could fight like that, nor how he could be so-well, _built_, for lack of any better word.

He took out what looked like a dark green avocado, and bit something off of it before he tossed it into the tunnel, and quickly did the same thing with another one of the avocado-like weapons. He placed his rag and helmet quickly back on before he ran back and yelled, "_Grenades_!"

Only two seconds later, the ground shook with the force of several tremors, and almost in the middle of the tunnel, two huge fireballs and pillars of black smoke exploded outwards, carrying several screams with them, and tossing out several flaming body parts and fiery chunks of iron.

The fire hissed and crackled as it quickly subsided, billowing smoke taking it's place, and with the dying of the flames, there were laughs. Not just any laughs. Laughs of men who should have been _dead_.

More than a handful of Laughing Dead came from both sides of the wreckage in the tunnel. Some were covered in flames, while others simply sustained wounds that should have, by all accounts and means, killed them instantly.

The 200 men at the sides of the tunnel ran forward to greet the Laughing Dead, yet they were no match as the soldiers sustained brutal wounds and cut down the rebels trying to defeat them. An Urgal swung his flail and tore flesh off a soldiers neck, but he heeded it not as he slit the chest of the Urgal.

"What the hell-?," Jason gasped, and Eragon looked to him and hissed, "The Laughing Dead. They are soldiers who have been magically modified by Galbatorix to not feel any pain and survive wounds that should leave them dead. They usually laugh as this happens, to demoralize us, and that's how they got their name."

"How can you kill them?," Jason asked, and Eragon said, "The only two known ways to kill them is by blood-loss or taking the easy way out and beheading them, but even that takes skill."

"Skill doesn't mean shit to us! You think we find it _hard _to do this?," The Prowler sarcastically and mockingly sneered, before he lifted the odd weapon and pulled back something five times, all times blowing up heads, before one of the Laughing Dead-who had wandered close in a pack with others-was pulled forward when Prowler grabbed his right shoulder, and Prowler shoved his blade weapon through his head, with a sickening squelch.

Jason raised and swung his machete, instantly decapitating four soldiers at once, while the three Killbots used their lasers to blow up three heads in rapid succession, making a mess of the scene.

_-POV change-_

Roran saw the slashers destroy the Laughing Dead like it was their _job _or something. He brained two soldiers while leaping over a fallen boulder, which had been rocked from it's original position due to the "grenade" explosions. He prepared to sneak up on a crossbow soldier, but it was in vain, as he fired a bolt which tore into Michael Myers.

The bolt tore through his chest, and, as Roran could see it, was only a few inches from touching his spinal cord. Blood began pooling from the wound and onto his shirt.

"NO! BLAST YOU! HOW COULD YOU?!," Roran shrieked, and the crossbow soldier turned to laugh and snigger at Roran, laughing, "What? Is little S_tronghammer _going to cry his piss out? Bah!," as he prepared to fire upon Roran.

Yet, for just a few seconds-maybe only two-Roran saw Michael rip the bolt from himself, throw the bloody and broken object aside, before he walked toward the crossbow man.

"I don't die that easily, bitch," Michael said simply and flatly, and the crossbow man turned to face him, and raised his crossbow, hoping to hit Michael's face.

Yet Michael would have none of it. He raised his kitchen knife, lowered it and turned it to an angle, and swung it, hitting the crossbow and tearing it to splinters as it flew from the crossbow soldier's hands, only for his hands to fly off as well, leaving bloody stumps.

The man looked down at the blood gushing stumps, then back up at Michael, and laughed, "Ha! I don't die that easily, either! You're going have to do _much more _than just that to cause me pain! I doubt you have the knowledge to find out how to that, though."

"Well then, _smart _guy, let's see what _will _make you tick," Michael sneered, and he grabbed the man by his helmet and spun him around so his back was facing him, and shredded his knife through the area just between his head and neck. More than a handful of major arteries were severed as the man was beheaded. His body slumped to the ground, yet his head remained in Michael's hand. He took a good look at it, before he hurled it at a swordsman of whom was dueling with a Surdan soldier. He was distracted and didn't see the Surdan slip the sword into his head.

Michael looked at Roran. "Looks like I'm in my _own _debt now. You didn't try to save me."

"I, I...I thought you had already been slain by the bolt," Roran stuttered, trying to find some explanation.

"But you still didn't try to avenge me, even if I didn't die," Michael said.

"I, I-I, er, well..."

"Doesn't matter," Michael replied. "We're supposed to be killing right now, not lecturing each other on the likes of morals and vengeance. Isn't that correct?"

"Er, well-you know, during battles, you can't always score a perfect kill-," Roran was saying before he was cut off.

"You'd be eating those words once you see us," Micheal stated.

_-POV change-_

Eragon cursed as a boulder fell just a few inches in front of him, from the hill. If he had moved any faster, he could have been crushed flat. Bits and pieces of stone fell from the hill, some of them almost as large as boulders themselves, as the hills groaned and rumbled.

A _whoosh _was heard, and a bright light came forward. He first thought it was Saphira, breathing flames upon the soldiers, but it was not blue enough to be her fire, nor was the heat from the fire too intense, but more along the lines of "just right". A tongue of flickering yellow flames, moving as fluidly as water, rushed onward and licked over a spear-carrier. The left cuff of Eragons's shirt went up as a small part of the fire came over it, and though it was small, Eragon quickly snuffed it out. Unlike magical or dragon fire, it did not spread in an instant, nor did it eat away much.

The flames died out, and he saw it was from some large, metallic, dark object, still emitting small tufts of black smoke, in Cropsy's hands.

The men were Laughing Dead, and therefore felt no pain as the fire consumed them, and ate their flesh. Cropsy took notice, and took out gardening shears(he knew what they were, as he had seen Garrow use them) and open them, before he shoved them through a soldier's head, before he closed them, ripped them out, and swung the shears, instantly decapitating the next soldier. He placed the shears back, and took the flame-breathing object out again, which hissed as at least a dozen or more men were set ablaze. Yet again, they felt no pain, yet this time, once their flesh had been burnt away, they began to bleed out rapidly. This caused them to bleed to death much faster than before.

Just as they fell, though, Saphira unleashed a torrent of sapphire blue flames, most of it covering other Imperials, but several of Cropsy's victims who had just been burnt were also attacked by Saphira's fire. Being the Laughing Dead, the men were actually able to scream before they died, but it was satisfying to know that her flaming breath could kill them quickly.

Cropsy looked to Saphira. "You use-use the same thing that happened...to-," he was saying to her, and rather bitterly, before a rapier-wielder sneaked upon him, and drove his rapier into his neck. Blood began to gush out as the rapier was withdrawn, and Cropsy uttered a horrific, pain-ridden wail, though it was also scratchy and cough-like in the process.

Eragon rushed to him, realizing that, unlike most of the other slashers, Cropsy was just a man. He needed to heal the wound as fast as possible, before he bled to death. Cropsy opened the shears, his hands shaking as he did this, and tore the head off the rapier-wielder. He then gasped as he clutched his chest, dropped the shears, and fell to the ground. His eyes rolled into his head before they shut.

Eragon bended over and tightly placed his hand over the wound on Cropsy's neck, so as to stop the bleeding. He directed his thoughts toward the wound, and cast a non-verbal spell of healing, though he had never been taught a spell so as to heal such a grievous wound.

First, the dead and mangled flesh pushed into the wound by the rapier was spat out, and Eragon then cast a longer, more complex spell so as to make the scar tissue and newly forming flesh to grow faster. As blood began to come from Cropsy's mouth, Eragon made the pus dissolve as he prepared to mend the damaged vein from the attack.

However, he was stopped by Arya, who pushed his hands away and muttered something under her breath. In an instant, the vein shifted as it reconnected, coming back to its original, normal bright blue hue. Cropsy began coughing blood as his eyes began to twitch.

"Will he survive?," Eragon asked, looking up to Arya.

"He will. However, it could take at least three days for his muscles in the wound to get used to the effects of the wound, despite it being healed," she replied.

That's when they heard the chainsaw start up.

_-POV change-_

The Imperial magician's eyes were wet and veined as he made his way through the smoke. He coughed repeatedly as the smoke entered his mouth.

There was a reason he was sent to take back Belatona. He was one of Galbatorix's most trusted servants, and the king had taught him his fair share of powerful magic, and mental attacks. He glared upon an Urgal wielding an iron bound club in his right hand, of which was smeared in gore, and a shield of oak upon his left arm.

He opened his right palm, and a white orb, no bigger than an apple, flashed up. It hummed for a second before it zoomed outward toward the Urgal, and the magician sneered as it hit him, not minding as the blood and guts splashed over him.

He turned his attention to a group of Varden cavalry and spear-carriers pushing back several soldiers of the Empire, and he prepared to focus his mind upon them, to take them out in an instant, in a show of flashing yet deadly light.

His focus was ruined as a werecat leaped upon him, and it hissed and yowled as it scratched through his face, and he cried out as it bit into his cheek, taking much flesh and blood with it.

"JIERDA!," he screamed, and the werecat was slammed in the chest with such force, it was thrown off and landed atop a pile of guts and on its back. It lifted its head and hissed.

"Brisingr," the magician whispered, and the werecat went up in white flames. It unleashed a hideous mixture of a shriek and a howl, which no normal creature should have uttered. It began to thrash wildly, setting the guts below it alight as well. It pawed at itself, in some futile way to get rid of the flames, but it was useless. The werecat quickly burned to death, and it lay still, uttering one final moan of pain and despair before it died.

The magician turned his attention back to the cavalry and spear-carriers, and began to focus his mind and sight upon the men. He began to mouth several words in the Ancient Language, preparing his spell, hoping to combine several of the Twelve Words of Death.

That was when he heard the sound. It was alien, and not once before in his life had he heard such a menacing, such a blatantly _malevolent_, noise. It sounded something along the lines of _voom-voom-voooom-VVVOOOOOOMMMMM-VVVVVVVVOOOOOMMMM_, and then went on into a repeated rattling hiss.

The magician turned to look in front of him, and saw some kind of man wearing some mask of some kind of leather. His hair was brown and disorganized, twisted even, and he was wearing some kind of apron, stained with old marks of human blood. He lowered his arms, wielding a huge weapon equipped with razor teeth, covered in a rather rusted old chain. He seemed to sneer both sardonically and vehemently, showing his crooked mouth under the open lips of the mask.

He lifted the weapon and pulled it back for a second, before he drove it forward, and the weapon shredded through the magician's face, quickly eating a hole in his face, before it came out the back of his head. Blood flew all over the place, as the magician fell backward, the weapon tearing his face in half.

_-POV change-_

Eragon cursed for the fifteenth time today as he pulled his foot out of the stomach he had just stepped in. He looked to Arya.

"Anymore left?," he asked, taking in the scenery around him. Smoke littered the air, and boulders kept the mounds of bodies rather short.

"I'm not sure. I've detected a few men, but my mental connection has ebbed just now. Whether it has been magical interference from-," she was saying, when a haggard, hook-nosed man started walking up to them, and stopped a few feet away.

There were two axemen right behind him, tall and burly, and the man cleared his throat rather unscrupulously before he lowered his head, staring directly at Eragon, and pointed at him. He muttered something under his breath, yet Eragon heard nothing of it.

The buzz was faint at first, and Eragon simply thought it was Candyman's bees. But it soon grew louder and louder, until he couldn't ignore the buzzing to his right, and turned his head.

What he saw was a whole swarm of black dung beetles. Their shells and wings glowed despite the lack of light, and their pure black eyes bulged, covered with slime and diseased moisture.

He knew they were summoned to consume him and Arya to the bone, and there was nothing to stop them. Saphira was too far away, and everyone else was behind the hills. He only wished it wouldn't be much _too _painful when the beetles started ripping his flesh off.

He closed his eyes as the buzzing grew ear-piercing, and started praying to an unknown god, any god that had the ability to save him, in anyway, just so this wouldn't happen to him.

His prayers, though, seemed to be answered, when the swarm stopped several inches in front of him. It stood frozen before it quickly zipped away and covered the magician and the two axemen, the former of whom's eyes bulged and lit up in terror and utter shock, not understanding how his spell backfired, and was now ready kill him and his men. The three men tried to scream yet failed miserably, as their lips and tongues were quickly torn up and eaten. Within seconds, nothing was left of them but their skeletons, which collapsed in a broken pile of bones.

Eragon and Arya stood in shock. Arya gazed at him, and said, "I-I, I heard you praying. Could it possibly be-?"

"It must be the only way his spell could have backfired in such a way," Eragon answered, nodding, as he shifted his gaze uneasily to the skeletons, but they disturbed him in some indescribable way, and he turned away.

"Really-the _only _way?," a familiar voice sneered sarcastically. The crunch of bones and squish of fallen guts was heard as he stepped closer.

It was Pinhead, the Tall Man to his left, dragging a bearded, hawk-nosed, angular faced man. Their was a chain embedded in his right shoulder and his left was grabbed tightly by Tall Man. He had a look of fear and regret deep in his eyes, and his mouth was downtrodden in an anguishing frown.

"You-you were the one who did that?," Eragon asked.

"You were there when I did those other attacks, those other backfiring spells. What made you think some _god _had the care to stop that spell?," Pinhead mockingly answered.

"Somebody, help! Please, somebody! Someone help! Please, let me go-!," the man cried, and Eragon and Arya turned his attention to him.

"Just who is this?," Arya asked, and the Tall Man looked to the mans face, before he looked back up and replied, "From what we have learned, he is a man named Commander Ramlonear. We found him running away with 5 other soldiers, yet we killed them and scanned this mans mind before we found out how useful he might be," a wide grin breaking out over Tall Mans face.

Eragon felt a drain on himself. He looked to see an arrow at Arya's feet, of which was not there before, and realized someone had fired an arrow at her, yet his wards had just barely managed to stop it from touching her.

There was a group of around 20 men in front of them, 5 being archers, 7 spear-carriers, and 8 swordsmen. Eragon made one of them go up in bright blue flames, yet he continued, and to his dismay, the men were Laughing Dead.

"Get back," Tall Man muttered to them.

"Why?," Eragon asked him confusedly.

"Get BACK! Don't question me!," Tall Man cried, and Eragon could only nod as he and Arya grabbed Ramlonear and, with Pinhead, scurried backwards with him.

They saw Tall Man reach in his coat, and he shifted through before he brought out a rather large Sentinel, about the size of the head of one of the Urgals' maces, and it slowly lulled forward through the air. Yet, this Sentinel was also starkly dark green, and had several thin, diagonal and vertical lines running through it. It came to a stop in front of the head of one of the swordsmen, and from it's two slits, the two signature forked blades popped out, and the Sentinel latched itself into the forehead of the swordsman. Being a Laughing Dead, he couldn't feel it, yet the Sentinel uttered an odd ring.

Then, they learned why they _had_ to get back.

The moment the ringing stopped, the Sentinel burst violently, releasing a shockwave of red and yellow flames, before a cloud of black smoke came and covered everything. In the midst of the smoke cloud, Tall Man was lost from view.

Eragon stood aghast. "Is he-is he de-?"

"No," Pinhead replied simply. "He'll be okay. Only the smoke covered him, and I've heard of no man who has been killed by the touch of smoke."

"Is-is it over?," Ramlonear asked queasily, and Pinhead looked to him and spat, hissing, "How the hell should we know, you damn dirty coward? You think, that just because of some explosion, it's all said and done? You-?!"

But Eragon intervened, and looked into Ramlonear's face, whispering, "Slytha," and the commander's eyes shut before his face went slack.

_**More than 100 KB. That's how long this chapter is. I tried to publish it by Oct.31st, Halloween, but due to heavy school and church work, I couldn't finish it in time. Now that one of Galbatorix's best commanders has been captured, and Belatona has been defended well by the Varden, how will that turn the tide of the war? And people, please, please-REVIEW! I've been reduced to begging for them! Even if you have no account, review anonymously! Please, people, tell me what you think of this story! Give me some constructive criticism!**_


	5. The Rage of Galbatorix

_**So, I'm juggling this chapter and the fifth chapter for TBOTP, and I'm juggling this story, CTE, and TBOTP. However, after the monstrous length of the previous chap, this one's gonna be MUCH shorter. Now that(SPOILER!) Galbatorix's army of 1,000 has been defeated and both the city of Belatona and Commander Ramlonear have been captured, the question remains:how much more can Galbatorix and the Empire possibly take? And will the slashers be truly accepted by the Varden and their allies? Quit being lazy and read on already!**_

Galbatorix was just about always calm, even in times of fear, and doubt, and utter despair. He masked it with a cool, calm, stoic frame. It inspired fear in his subjects. It made them serve him, for they feared getting killed while their master coolly whispered of how they failed.

This _really _was not one of those times.

"_**HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY LOSE AGAINST A RAGTAG BUNCH OF SCOUNDREL REBELS?! YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY BE THE ONLY SURVIVING SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE FROM THE BATTLE!"**_, Galbatorix roared at the only soldier to both survive _and _escape the attempt to re-take Belatona from Eragon and the Varden.

"B-bu-but sir! You only sent 1,000 soldiers to take the city back! You knew there were th-those 19 newcomers, and they were going to be there to aid the Varden! You knew, and yet, only 8 magicians and 992 soldiers were sent-," the young soldier(who was only around 17) stuttered to Galbatorix. This only heightened Galbatorix's rage. He didn't like getting called out for his mistakes.

"_**HOW DARE YOU?!**_ You think to criticize _me?! _You dare to call out my actions? I am the king of the Empire, you squirming wench, and the only reason your piss-poor family is still receiving financial benefits is because you agreed to serve in my army! L-!" Galbatorix suddenly stopped, his face contorting in anger. You're-you're _lying!_"

"Lying about what?," the soldier whimpered, and his face went pale, and Galbatorix cried out as his eyes squinted angrily.

"I went through your mind-and you are _NOT _the only surviving soldier of the army sent to take back Belatona! You lying piece of shit! You cunt! Commander Ramlonear-he survived! He was just captured!"

"No, no, my lord! That isn't what I meant! I meant-I am the only Imperial to survive Belatona and also _escape! _I knew Ramlonear was captured, but, but-!"

"But _**NOTHING!**_ You lying son of a bitch! I asked if you were the only surviving soldier of the party sent, and you said yes! I did not ask if you were the only one to _escape! _How dare you lie to I, the king of this whole wasted nation?!" Galbatorix violently raged to the soldier, who shrunk back. "I am the one who allows for your baths, your meals, your clothing, your shelter, your training! And you think to lie to me?!"

"Please, sir, it was just an honest misunderstanding-!" the soldier whined.

"Misunderstanding! In this kingdom of mine, misunderstandings are of zero tolerance! Remember when I said your family's benefits would get cut off if you died in battle? Well, now your family will have to find a way to provide themselves!" he hissed as he unsheathed Vrangr.

"No, my lord, please do-!" the soldier was screaming, but it was too late, and with a single stroke, the soldier's head was lopped clean off. His head rolled as his corpse crumpled, blood jetting from the neck.

_That was quite pointless_, Shruikan observantly said to Galbatorix. The king shot his huge black scaled dragon a look of vehemence and annoyance.

"Oh, hush, stupid lizard! You know I could just kill you now and not feel it, since you never even hatched for me!" Galbatorix sneered.

_I don't think you would. You're much smaller than me, for sure, and I could just swallow you and you would have to die by being dissolved in my stomach. Is that how you want to die, _false _Rider?_, Shruikan scoffed to Galbatorix. The king's face grew red and hot. He hated it when Shruikan was right.

"If you shall excuse me, I shall be discussing matters of utmost importance with Lord Barst," Galbatorix muttered embarrassingly under his breath. Shruikan snorted, his verbal dragon way of laughing.

The king made his way past Shruina's long black tail, and he unlocked a large gray, bricked door and shut it behind him after he entered, and observed the fairths. The king had lied about meeting Lord Barst, merely wanting to study the images closer, further, more intently.

Once he had received the memories of 10 of the supposed 19 newcomers, he had Murtagh create fairths of them, and once that had been done, he stored them in here, his personal studies, which few were allowed to access without given permission from the king himself. Entering Galbatorix's personal studies without his permission was punishable by death.

He stuck his head forward, and observed the fairths intently. He looked at the huge man with the round white mask, an upside down red triangle at the top, with multiple holes on the mask. There was a severely disfigured man, wearing a long sleeved, red and green striped shirt, a hat, and on his right hand, a glove, with four razor blades on the finger tips.

One had a blood stained apron, with ragged, dirty brown hair, and a leathery, pulled back mask. He held in his left hand a sledgehammer, and in his right, an incredibly bizarre weapon, with a large yellow, blunt hilt, and atop it, a slightly curving silver blade, of incredible width, with razor metal fangs and a brown, rusted chain.

The fourth concerned a huge, built figure, most likely a man, wearing a faded dark blue, long sleeved shirt, and torn blue pants. He wore a blank, expressionless, pure white mask over his head and face, and through the eye holes, he saw the purest, blackest eyes-a true demon's eyes. His hair was also brown, yet it wasn't exactly ragged and dirty, and in his right hand, he carried a blood coated kitchen knife. His eyes seemed to pierce Galbatorix through and through, and he shuddered as he turned his attention to the next fairth.

As he began to focus upon it, though, there was a knock on his door. He groaned. "Who is it?" He was in no mood for interruptions at the moment.

"It is I," Mutagh replied, and Galbatorix cursed under his breath. _What does he want now?!_, he angrily thought to himself.

"Come in, Murtagh," he replied. There was a short turn of the knob, before the red Rider stepped in, slowly shutting the large door behind him. The door remained from the former citadel of Illeria, and was there before Galbatorix had conquered it.

"I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my studies, Murtagh. I am in no mood for little play things, such as Thorn's saddle breaking. If I hear anything lesser than the Varden falling and Eragon tearfully announcing his surrender, I shall be quite disappointed, more so than I am right now, in fact!" Galbatorix hissed. "Now, test me no longer-speak up!"

Murtah nodded slightly, his expression still, his gaze unmoving from Galbatorix's face. "Well, you see, sir, I was just thinking-I would like for Thorn and I to take 48 men with us to attack the Varden and take back Belatona, and perhaps even Eragon and Saphira, and the 19 newcomers."

Galbatorix scoffed. "Boy, I had 9,000 soldiers, and just sent 1,000 more to retake Belatona. And you know what happened to those 10,000? All dead or captured! What makes you think sending 4 dozen more soldiers and you and Thorn is going to make much of a difference?!"

"The men cannot feel pain, my king," Murtagh replied.

"So did many of the soldiers I sent to retake Belatona, and that didn't stop the Varden and their allies from crushing them, now did it?" Galbatorix impatiently growled, the bitterness and frustration rising in his voice and facial expression.

"But I enhanced them in not just that way, King Galbatorix. I made it so their armor would not be able to be penetrated by the likes of the weapons of the newcomers, and placed at least a dozen wards on each man. I increased the thickness, as well, of their armor plates and shields, and their helmets so not even Roran Stronghamer's hammer may shatter them. And perhaps best of all, I magically enhanced them to the point that they have the speed and strength to match that of an elf, Rider, and Kull. I have already placed the men into huge satchels on the sides of Thorn's saddle, each one able to carry at least 72 men. So, I ask of you again, my king-can I bring these men with Thorn and I to attack the Varden?" Murtagh calmly and coolly answered, his confidence in his voice unwavering.

Galbatorix stood astonished. His expression was of total surprise. "You-you truly have prepared, haven't you, Murtagh?"

The red Rider nodded. "I certainly have. Now, once again-may I bring these men to attack the Varden?"

"You certainly may. I must say-I am most impressed with your preparations. Especially with how you altered the men to have the speed and strength of the Riders, elves, and Kull. Tell me, please, just how did you do that?"

Murtagh smiled slyly. "That is a story for another time, my king."

_-POV change-_

Pinhead looked down at Commander Ramlonear's face, before looking back up at Eragon. "Did that spell-did it kill him?" he asked uncertainly.

Eragon shook his head. "Nay-it merely put him to sleep. Besides, why ever would I try to kill him? He seems to be one of Galbatorix's highest commanders-he could be of great use to us."

"I guess you are correct, Rider. Though I wonder-when will the spell wear off?" Pinhead asked.

It was Arya who answered. "Do not worry, he shall awaken in around 5 hours, at least."

Pinhead groaned as he looked to her. "I was asking Eragon, _not you_. Though I guess I should be thankful for at least getting an answer." He stood and dusted off his leather robe, and kicked one of the bodies out of his way as he made his way back toward the keep, where most of the Varden were establishing camp.

Eragon turned to Arya, and saw the look of bitter vehemence on her face. She hissed, "I do not like these slashers, Eragon. They are rude, cruelly sarcastic to an unhealthy degree, and above all else, sadistic. I saw one of them drag a wounded soldier, begging for his very life, into an alley and slice his fingers off, leaving him to bleed to death. It will make the men of the Empire fear us more, yes, yet it will also cause innocent civilians to hate us more when we conquer their towns and cities, and rather than enlist more men in the Varden, it will cause more people to stray from us, for fear of fighting with the slashers. In fact, I'm predicting some of our own men will leave _because _of the slashers!"

"Then those men would be cowards and traitorous fiends!" Eragon shot back at her. Arya looked at him in astonishment. Not once had he snapped at her in such an angry manner. Eragon saw this, and sighed.

"Look Arya, I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to snap at you like that. It's just that-I can't stand the Varden being fractured by bitter enmity. I saw the looks the men, women, and children at the keep gave to the slashers. They were not very kind and welcoming, to be sure. They are uncomfortable fighting alongside mass murderers, with demons and monsters. It is, after all, hard to trust silent, masked men, who you plead with, and receive a knife to the throat in answer. But they are now our allies, and they hope we can get them back to their realm of origin. You must understand-they are perhaps our strongest warriors, even greater than the Urgals."

Arya looked to him, her emerald green eyes staring into his own eyes. Her usual emotionless, calculating expression was gone, replaced by a sad, downtrodden gaze, like that of a child watching his father dying, his tears not ready to come out just yet. She dipped her head down, her lips slightly parting so as to respond, but she quickly closed them, not wanting to say anything further.

"I-I, understand. I hope you may forgive me, Eragon. I did not mean to say anything against the Varden," she muttered after a minute of silence.

They stood as they dragged Ramlonear, amidst the men piling bodies of the rebels and boulders alike onto wide silver carts, each having 5 levels, capable of holding 17 corpses, at most, making them heavy even without the bodies fully loaded onto them. Yet, with the few casualties the rebels had suffered at Belatona, there were few carts, and none of them were fully stocked with bodies at all. The rocks being piled onto them accounted for most of the increasing weight on the carts, the regular men struggling to push them because of the rocks, forcing several Urgals and Kull to give aid.

Above, Eragon could see Saphira flying through and parting the black and brown haze and smoke from the fallen buildings and burning skyscrapers and manors. What were once magnificent, artistic mansions were mostly now just burnt-out husks.

To his right, just past the large tufts of artistically cut shrubs and hedges and several dozen feet from the hills and tunnel, he could see the bodies, limbs, and guts of the Imperial soldiers getting stacked onto each other, the mound beginning to rise higher than even Nar Garzhvog's head, until it was getting too high and the men had to make a second mound. Eragon could see the bodies of the fallen Varden soldiers at the tunnel had been mostly cleared away and onto the carts, while Cropsy took out the fire-breathing object he had used to set the body mounds ablaze.

Eragon and Arya stopped as Nasuada crossed in front of them. "Ah, good evening, Lady Nasuada," Eragon said to her, bowing in respect. She nodded.

"And good evening to you, Eragon Shadeslayer, and you, Arya Dröttningu . I advise you not call me Lady or bow, though, as we are after all close friends, not servants to rulers. Especially you, Arya. It makes me feel uncomfortable, being treated like some high queen," she replied.

"Ok. Okay, then, Nasuada," he muttered in embarrassment. Arya had no response.

"And may I care to know just who this man is?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she pointed to Ramlonear.

"He is Commander Ramlonear, the man sent to lead the men here to retake Belatona. Pinhead and Tall Man saw him fleeing with five other men and killed them, before they captured Ramlonear. They found some way to see into his mind to find out just who he is. They brought him to us, and I put him to sleep so he would not fight the process of being captured," Eragon told her. Her frown vanished as she took the information in.

"Most well done, Eragon and Arya. I wish Pinhead and Tall Man were here to take the congratulations as well. Though I think it would be much relaxing for both of you if you would just give Ramlonear to me," she said, beginning to smile, as she began to call for Jörmundur, only for Pumpkinhead to step in front of her as she tried to call again. He grunted and hissed as he saw Ramlonear, and Nasuada uneasily said to him, "Er-take this man. Take him to the camp at the keep, where King Orik will be, and place him in one of the cells in the castle." Without another word, she lifted the commander to Pumpkinhead, who snorted as he picked up Ramlonear, slung him over his shoulder, and turned, walking away with him.

"What of the men, Nasuada? Have any survived?" Arya asked as Pumpkinhead grew smaller and smaller walking to the keep.

"Nay, all of the Empire's men sent to retake the city have been slain. Of our men here, 18 have been killed, while 12 have been wounded. Several of the werecats have also been killed, though it is but a handful," Nasuada answered as Jörmundur ran up to her, out of breath, his face contorted in fear as it became red.

"My Lady, Lady Nasuada! There, there-!"

" Jörmundur! What-what is going on? Why are you so out of breath? And why do you look so horrified? You look like you've seen a demon!" Nasuada exclaimed, as Jörmundur began to clear his throat.

"And I have, my Lady! We've spotted, just flying above us, are Murtagh and Thorn! H-!" he was telling to her, when the roar of a dragon overtook the rest of what he was saying, and the earth shook with the impact of Thorn's landing.

_**So, now that this has been done-REVIEW! People, review this story! Give me your ideas on what you think of it! Quit just reading! REVIEW as well! Especially you, TheWorldIsYours, and you seh507, since you guys have Favorited and Followed this story! REVIEW, I say!**_


	6. The Conjuring(Obey)

_**Murtagh and Thorn are flying out with 48 magically mutated Imperial soldiers towards the Varden's residence at Belatona, after the 19 slashers have allied with Eragon and the rest in return for them getting them back home. Having 10,000 troops of his army destroyed or captured, unease and impatience is beginning to overtake Galbatorix and his military, as the Mad King tries to find a way to get several slashers to his side. Little does he know, soon, his plans MIGHT come to fruition. Alagaësia will never be the same after chapter 6 of Inheritance of the Slashers.**_

The cries were heard as Thorn landed upon the ground, throwing many of the men off their feet. He uttered a second roar, and several men ran toward him, spears and pikes extended. With a wordless spell, though, they were all sent flying back and off their feet like leaves in a mighty fall wind.

Murtagh dismounted from Thorn, wordlessly halting and hurling back the men and arrows trying to stop him. An arrow nearly struck his head, yet he stopped it right away, and a second later, it exploded.

"Er-is he another one of those Riders like you?" Jason quietly and uneasily asked, leaning in toward Eragon, and without looking to him, Eragon said, "Not the _good _kind of Rider, like myself. He's in the service of Galbatorix, along with his dragon."

Murtagh finally stopped, and so did the arrows and spears, which he froze in midair. "Peace, Eragon Shadeslayer, and you, Saphira-," he was beginning to say, when Eragon saw Jason raise and pull back his bow, an arrow attached.

"No, don't-!" Eragon cried, but it was too late, and with much applied force and strength, the arrow flew free from the bow, going too fast for Murtagh to halt it, and it tore into his lower torso, the barbed missile flying with glee as it landed in Murtagh's gut.

He looked down, glaring at the arrow, before he looked back up at Jason this time, and he slumped back, grabbing the arrow tightly. He tried to pull it out, but he instead screamed as he realized, for that the first time, that the arrow _was _actually barbed and serrated at the tip.

Falling on his back, Murtagh gritted his teeth as his face clenched in pain, his breathing hoarse and rasping. His eyes were tightly shut, which is why he probably didn't see Michael walk up to him, crouch down, and plunge his knife into his chest, between the ribs. He opened his mouth to scream again, but nothing came out but a few short gasps.

_-POV change-_

Thorn saw the arrow enter his Riders stomach, and the knife slip into his chest. He saw him scream and gasp in total pain, and that pain was reflected in him, as he felt his chest burn as if though a knife had slipped between his ribs as well.

He could already feel his partners connection to life beginning to undo itself, unfolding like a paper that been folded and then pressed down on for several days so it wouldn't unfold. His grip onto the mortal coil was slowly slipping away.

Murtagh and Thorn had come here to make peace, but peace was now the last thing on Thorn's mind as he felt his Rider dying. He roared in total rage, as he looked to the man in the white mask who had stabbed Murtagh, and opened his maw, ready to set the man, and all else, ablaze.

_-POV change-_

Eragon couldn't believe the slashers were so eagerly killing Murtagh. They didn't even know him, and yet, they already knew he was the enemy, and that didn't stop them from tearing away his grasp upon life.

He saw Thorn roar, before he opened his maw, ruby red flames starting up and ready to set Michael ablaze. He didn't want him to die, yet he also wanted to see him and Jason get their comeuppance for taking away Murtagh.

Eragon's face was suddenly lit up as he heard _that _massive bang again, knowing it was The Prowler and his odd weapon. The projectile went so fast, Eragon could only see the smoke contrail behind it, as the missile tore through Thorn's left wing, burning and ripping off flesh and bone and charring the membrane. Thorn's concentration was broken, and he bellowed in pain as his head sank, mulling over the terrible pain.

"Blast you, Eragon!" Murtagh hissed, looking up at Eragon. "Thorn and I came in peace, to ally with you and the Varden!" He repeated this in the Ancient Language, before saying, "Our true names had changed, and we seized the opportunity to break free of Galbatorix's iron grip! We brought with us 50 men, 48 of which are magically modified former soldiers who are fed up with The Empire!" He again repeated this in the Ancient Language, before he started rapidly coughing up blood.

Eragon realized if Murtagh wasn't healed good soon, he could die, and one of the few things he did not want was that. He then shouted, "So? Why come to us? You know the dwarves hate you with a passion, Murtagh, and the elves now as well for killing Oromis and Glaedr! You know we do not want you!"

Murtagh grimaced further, and spat. "Here I, your very half brother, lay _dying_, and you have the nerve to tell me I am not wanted one bit, and you have the courtesy to act as some messenger for these blasted dwarves and elves? I-!" He was cut short when he gasped, and his already pale face turned bone white as his head slumped to the ground, blood pooling from his mouth.

Eragon reached out to Murtagh's mind, and felt his grasp to life slipping, and quickly. He knew he had to get Murtagh healed quickly, or else he would die , and yet, he felt the wounds, from both the arrow and knife, and saw they had both cut in deep, with several major arteries severed in his chest.

He ran to Murtagh, and placed his hand on his chest, yet he simply glared at him and hissed, "Get away! I don't want a traitorous bastard healing me! Let me die, for it would be much better than sharing life with you! This is much less painful than what you have said to me, all the attempts to kill me, and even less painful than what you allowed Galbatorix to do to Thorn and I!" He then closed his eyes, and his face became gravely cold and clammy to the touch.

"No, Murtagh! I, it was just, I-no, don't!" Eragon cried as he felt his half brothers mind slipping away. "No, Murtagh, please! Don't die on me now! Not after all you've been put through! After all your hardships!" Eragon pressed on Murtagh's chest, trying to seal the wound on his chest, reconnect the arteries, but whatever Michael's knife did, it kept reopening the wound and kept disconnecting the arteries.

He felt Murtagh's mind one more time, and he felt just a flicker of life before it all just went black. His heart was still beating, but there was nothing in his mind. Murtagh was brain dead.

Eragon couldn't hold in the tears any longer. His eyes grew red and started hurting as his mouth went dry, and he grabbed Murtagh's brain dead body up to him, whispering, "I'm sorry-for everything, even if it wasn't my own fault. I'm so sorry."

_-POV change-_

Galbatorix stood around twenty feet from his oak and granite throne. The lights in the room were dimmed to the perfect pitch, giving the throne room a desirably ominous feel and appearance in the low orange light. Several dozen servants and guards were lined on each side to the left and right in the octagonal room.

Galbatorix was covered in bright, gold-trimmed armor, with the breast plate covered in bright sapphires, rubies, and emeralds, and a shining silver sword on his right hip, while his usual crown was replaced by a specially made bronze cap, reflecting the orange light. If he wanted to get some creatures like the newcomers to his side, he needed to make sure he made a good first impression, not look like the evil monster the Varden and their allies so despicably portrayed him as. Though, he could care less what they thought of him.

He began muttering several phrases in the Ancient Language, starting slowly and quietly, but after around one minute, he began speaking more rapidly and loudly, until his voice filled the throne room, beginning to sound like the boom heard deep inside the heart of a drum being beaten upon. His words sounded unintelligible to his servants, despite the fact they knew it was an actual language, and the phrases he was saying were words of magic forbidden even to the Riders. This was because Galbatorix had taken several key words of the Ancient Language, bound them to a single goal, and very much created his own spell.

His words suddenly came to a halt as he saw the air begin to ripple in front of his throne, like water. He sensed the heat beginning to build steadily, while the air hummed and buzzed like electricity, ready to discharge. A black orb formed in front of his throne, and it started to peel like the flesh of a Shade once it had been slain, before glowing into a menagerie of bizarre colors, the likes of which Galbatorix had never seen. The orb became pitch black again, before an unearthly screeching noise blasted full out, and broke several of the lanterns, dimming the room further . Several servants covered their ears.

The orb then blasted out in a black explosion rising to the ceiling, as it turned a dark shade of gray, before it finally turned to a bright white color, and the explosion faded, leaving only smoke and the scorched floor.

In the center of where the orb stood, there was now a figure. The upper part of his body was not seen, though everyone could clearly see the green gloves on his hands, along with his pants, and his large black boots. The man was breathing in and out rapidly, and in a heavy, exhausted way. Galbatorix smiled as he laid eyes upon the man, who, despite not being able to see his head or face, he could see was looking upon him.

"Greetings, fellow newcomer! I am _most pleased _you have arri-," Galbatorix was cheerfully saying as the man gazed upon him, but the man quickly stopped him short.

"Who the hell are you, _bitch?_" the man hissed venomously between his heavy breathing.

Galbatorix's smile faded, as his jaw dropped. He wasn't expecting this at all.

"Who am I? I-I am King Galbatorix, the ruler of the land you reside in now, Alagaësia. And it is you, my fellow newcomer, of which I require assistance from!"

The man snorted. "King? You look like some sort of fruity drama teacher, judging by all that gay shit you have on you!" the man laughed, pointing at Galbatorix's bronze cap and bejewled armor. The mans raspy laughter unnerved the servants and guards, and sent a chill up the kings spine. He gritted his teeth.

"Now, you listen to me, fool! I am the King, and you shall listen to and respect me! Is that clear? Now, sir-tell me _your _name," Galbatorix hissed to the man, and the man pulled out something, which looked like a gasping chicken, yet everyone could see it was just a little toy.

"Who am I?" the man asked, pinching the chickens neck as he spoke, releasing a squeaking noise. "I-I am a monument to all of your sins!"

By squeaking the chicken, it added an incredibly amusing tone to the mans speech, and Galbatorix grinned again, struggling to keep in his laughter, as his servants began chuckling and giggling uncontrollably as they pointed at the man and his fake chicken.

"What? Haven't you people ever heard of Halo 2?" the man asked confusedly, as Galbatorix finally gave up on holding his laughter, breaking out in fits of snorting giggling.

"That-that's very funny! You-you are-!" he was saying between his laughing, but he couldn't hold it back, and he then changed his childlike giggling to rude sneering.

"Ah, well, I guess I _could _have some use of you. Most likely not for combat, but with those gloves and chicken, I think you would make well as a court jester of sorts!" Galbatorix chuckled as his laughter subsided, though the servants just wouldn't stop.

Big mistake.

The mans right hand lashed out, a knife tearing through a guards chest, before the man put back his chicken. He then pulled out some twisted, quite tiny piece of silver metal, and slashed through two throats at once, and then gouged out another mans eye with it.

He put the tiny piece of metal back as well, taking out-_something _which looked like the head of a horse, which was of wood, and thrust it into a the servants head, making a nasty cracking noise as the skull was torn in half nastily.

The wood horse head was slammed straight into an unfortunate mans lower jaw, sending him flying back into the wall as his lower teeth were pushed out, blood gushing from the smashed out teeth and the broken jaw.

The gloved man tossed out a small white stick, which left behind a white residue on the mans gloves, and it tore through a guards mouth and sank deep into the throat, causing the guard to gag as he grasped his throat, before he fell to the floor, retching violently.

"Oh, shit! This is **not **how this was supposed to turn out!" Galbatorix cried out as the man hoisted three more of his guards into a shiny black bag, before he tied it shut.

The man rushed to another servant, his knife raised, only for Galbatorix to shout, "Blöthr! Eitha!" The man turned to Galbatorix, his breathing heavier this time. He hissed, before he vanished in a flash of bright black light.

The servant the man had been preparing to kill with his knife had been reduced to a charred skeleton by the explosion which had sent the man back to his home realm. Not like it mattered to him.

"Clear these bodies away," Galbatorix said to a nearby servant. "I shall try to get one more of these strange creatures to my side before the day is over."

"Are you stupid?! We all just nearly got slain by one of those monsters! What makes you think you'll get any to your side?!" the servant bitterly yelled.

Galbatorix raised his left hand, opening it wide, before he let loose a black bolt of thunder from his palm with a nonverbal spell. It struck the servant in the chest, and sent the man flying into the wall. He fell to the floor, and thrashed for several seconds, before he lay still.

He soon got the place cleaned up, and also ordered in six of his most powerful and most trusted magicians, just in case this second newcomer being summoned also turned out to be less than friendly.

Once more he uttered the spell in the same pattern, once more the orb appeared, and once more a black blast came and turned to white. This time, a brand new man showed up in the center of where the orb had been. He wore a gray, drab shirt, which was torn and mangled at the chest area. He had on him a pair of mostly torn beige pants, while his visible knees were awfully scarred. His head and face were both entirely covered by a holed mask similar to that of the one of the newcomers, except this one was black. His eyes, however, were still visible. Also unlike the white holed mask, this one had the area from the chin to the forehead jutting forward.

The man looked up, stood up from his crouching position, and asked, in an incredibly deep voice, "Who are you, to disturb me and take me away from my home?"

Galbatorix didn't smile this time. He replied with, "I am King Galbatorix, the leader of this land you are now in, Alagaësia. I try my hardest to keep all my citizens happy, and yet, there is a group of terrorists trying to bring me down, and corrupt my system. They are the Varden. And this war now merits your assistance."

The man stood silently for several seconds, before hissing, "So? You are a King, and you must have your own army. Why not just use them?"

"Because, they have enlisted the help of nineteen incredibly powerful and deadly individuals, with masks and clawed gloves and kitchen knives-"

"You mean the nineteen slashers who have vanished two days ago in my realm?" the man asked.

"Well, one of them wears a white mask with an upside down triangle at the top-" Galbatorix was saying, but was stopped.

"Jason! And that man, with the clawed glove-Freddy Krueger!" the man angrily snarled. "Do you know any of them?" Galbatorix asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Of course. They are slashers, just like myself. And I hate them, for reasons beyond your comprehension," the man answered. "And I dislike the rest of those seventeen slashers. I _despise _them."

"Then will you help me?" Galbatorix pleaded, and the man scoffed.

"What are you to offer me?"

"What is your name, first. I must address you properly. And what I shall give you in return for your assistance? You must tell me what you want yourself."

The man seemed to ponder. "My name is Dabre. W-"

One of the magicians laughed. "_Dabre? _What kind of ridiculous name is-"

A huge cylindrical knife suddenly flashed out from Dabre's hand, and came out from the magicians back. His eyes grew wide before he stopped moving.

Dabre continued. "What I want is for every person who has the power to control the lives of others in this land-to be _exterminated_. I was used against my will, and now, I am who I am."

Galbatorix grinned now. He was wanting to keep in check all magicians in the land, and they had the sad power to control everyone's lives like pawns in a board game. "Well then, Dabre, I believe you and I shall be able to work together just fine!"

_**Bet y'all didn't see that coming, huh?! Murtagh isn't dead, but he is brain dead. However, I will say this:he will appear in later chapters, but whether it will be because of a miraculous recovery or as a spirit, I'm not saying yet. And as for Dabre:he isn't an actual slasher, and he has never appeared in any actual films. I looked up for cool villain names, and came to a villain name generator. I chose cutting and slashing abilities along with ranged attacks, and got the likes of Dart Sabre, Slice Shot, Knife Bullet, Blast Slicer, Gun Dart, Sword Blast, Knife Shooter, and Arrow Slicer. I decided to combine Dart and Sabre in Dabre. I got his mask design from this mask, but I'm gonna have to space the URL, cause FF . Net filters out regular URLs:**_

_** www. Amazon AIRSOFT-Airsoft-Goaltender-Paintball-paintball / dp/ B007U7JHUU**_

_**Just copy and paste that, get rid of all the spaces, and you'll see the inspiration for Dabre's mask. And as for the first slasher who was summoned:it's Breather, from the 1981 parody Student Bodies.**_


	7. Four More

_**Now, don't read this A/N if you hate spoilers. Otherwise, continue. Galbatorix now has the slasher Dabre(who has never actually appeared in any media) on his side after a successful summoning. That could be a bit of a problem now that Murtagh has arrived with Thorn to make peace with the Varden, only for Jason and Michael to hurt him so much, he goes brain dead. I told you Alagaësia will never be the same again after chapter 6, but now, here's where the slashers get to meet the one and only, King Orrin. **_

Eragon's tears rushed onto his half-brothers face, as he cradled Murtagh's brain dead body closer to him. There were no words one could say that could perfectly encompass the loss Eragon had just been hit with. Nothing could perfect the rage, grief, and hatred he was feeling, not to anyone in particular, but at life itself.

He lifted his head and unleashed a drawn out, vicious cry into the coming dusk, of which sent a chill up everyone's spine, and could be heard as far as Kuasta and the village of Enrtana. It was a sound of despair, that all hope was lost.

He heard a rumbling noise, coming closer to him, and a beeping hiss. Eragon opened his eyes, and turned his head to see one of the Killbots. In the midst of this tragedy, he had forgotten about the slashers, and how they had been the cause of all this.

"Scanning for life modules," it droned in its electronic, emotionless voice, its blue visor going black as some sound, like a turning wheel in a mill, emitted from it. After a minute or so, a loud beep unceremoniously interrupted and stopped the sound, before the Killbot droned, "Individual is still alive, yet slightly brain dead."

"Well, no shi-!" Eragon began to roar, when he paused. "Wait, what do you mean, _slightly _brain dead?"

"This individual is now not capable of having thoughts or memories, yet he is still able to hear. There is still time for him to be saved," the Killbot rasped.

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

The Killbot rolled back, before saying, "Please stand back, for your own safety." Confused, Eragon still asked, "How is he going to be sav-?"

He got no time to say anything else as a small tube peered out from the Killbot's "chin", which fizzed a bright blue color, before emitting an explosive _bang _and a bright flash of blue, and sending forth a mass wave of what could be nothing other than pure electricity, though what kind of electricity it was, he had no clue.

It was through sheer reaction and reflexes that he managed to leap out of the way before the wave could touch him, and he looked up to see the electricity entering Murtagh through the cut on his chest he had received from Michael. Almost instantly afterward, Murtagh began to flinch and thrash around, as if though he was having a spasm, before he uttered a deep howl of pain, and he stopped moving, returning to the same position on the ground as before when Eragon was cradling his body.

The hum of the static from the electricity grew to an unbearable degree, to the very point Eragon simply wanted to empty his eardrums. Murtagh screamed again, this time much more crudely, and with that, a burst of the electricity erupted from his chest, lighting everything up and even setting several rocks alight, before everything, even the humming and the electricity, stopped. The air grew still and the men stopped before Murtagh's eyes twitched, and his fingers began doing the same.

"M-M-Murtagh?" Eragon stuttered, inching closer and closer, yet ever so slowly, toward him, but he stopped when a pulsing green beam shot forward and into the cut. The sound of dead and mangled flesh and muscle burning was heard, before the beam shifted to a rather dark shade of violet, and vanished into the wound. Covering the exposed area of the cut, the violet energies seemed to be pulling the separated seams of flesh back together, similar to how sometimes, a piece of metal would be attracted to a rock for unknown reasons.

Once the wound had finally been sealed shut, the final part to repair was the fact that there was still the scar. Switching to a orange beam, the Killbot moved it slowly and carefully over the large, cracked red cut, from which pus was beginning to flow. First, the pus was melted down into fine microscopic dust, as the beam was nearly twenty thousand degrees warm, which also began peeling off the scarred flesh tissue. The scarred tissue was then melted into a glowing orange mold, almost as orange as the beam itself, which proceeded to darken and cool in several seconds.

Moving again toward his half brother, Eragon bent down and slowly scraped the mold off, revealing a pristine area of skin, looking as if though nothing had even happened to it in the first place. Opening his eyes, Murtagh looked up at Eragon, before turning his head and looking at Thorn and the men of the Varden, as well as Michael. He slowly turned back to Eragon, looking him dead in his pupils, and whispered, "I heard-heard it all. Everything you told me. All of which you sobbed to me." He then stood up, and looked down at Eragon. "I even heard your apology."

Standing with him, Eragon nodded as he swallowed. "I thought it would be able to bring you back. Even if it would be for only the merest of a moment. Little did I know he would be the only able to properly heal you," he replied, motioning toward the Killbot.

Murtagh likewise turned his head toward the robotic slasher, and asked, "So, you are the one who has saved me from a passing into the void?"

"Yes," the Killbot droned, as Murtagh took a look at Thorn's left wing, of which had been torn and battered after The Prowler had shot through it. "Are you able to fix my dragon Thorn's wing?"

It responded by firing the green and purple beam again into Thorn's wound, which once again pulled itself back together and shut. He switched once more to the orange beam, which melted the scar tissue into the mold, which again darkened and cooled.

"Vaetna," Murtagh said. _Dispel_.

And the mold dispelled, scattering over the wing before sliding off and onto the ground. Thorn purred in satisfaction, before turning to the Killbot and saying, in a rather musical voice, _Thank you, bizarre beast. Were it not for you, it would have been a much longer and more painful process of healing my wing, and you saved my Rider from certain death. I owe you for this._

"Mental energy from message stored, and ready for later observation," the Killbot rasped.

Eragon and Murtagh shared confused looks at the hearing of this, before Eragon turned to look at the one who had started this whole entire mess:Michael Myers.

"_You_," he angrily seethed, as he began walking toward Myers. "You-you are the one that nearly _murdered _my half brother, caused him to go slightly brain dead for a while, and were the reason Thorn here got his wing blasted! Do you have _anything _to say for yourself?! You should be whipped and hanged!"

Michael shrugged. "I was just following orders. But go ahead, whip and hang me-not like it's gonna make a difference, except hurt your chances in this war."

Eragon was surprised and confused at once. "Nobody said anything-who's orders were you following?"

"Jason. He's the one who fired the arrow, and so I thought it meant the guy was an enemy, so I took the understandable precautions."

He was right. Jason was not only one of the slashers, but the most iconic, and their chosen leader. It would make sense if they followed after what he did.

Eragon turned around and quickly strided toward the hockey mask wearing murderer. They hadn't been here for even a day, and the slashers were making a mess of the Varden.

"Jason," he hissed. "You fired that arrow into Murtagh, and caused Michael to nearly kill him and Prowler to injure Thorn. Why did you fire that arrow?"

"Well, you said he worked for the tyrant king Galbatorix, so I thought he should be killed off. Who would have thought he actually came to be friends?" At this, Jason laughed, as did several of the other slashers. To Eragon though, it wasn't humorous one bit.

"You better watch yourself next time, Voorhees, or else I'll have you hanging from a branch." Jason snorted. "I don't answer to you, Eragon, and plus, it's not like getting hanged is gonna harm me in the least bit."

Eragon was about to say something back, when Murtagh yelled, "Stop! We should be rejoicing that our chances of defeating the king and toppling the Empire just raised greatly, not bickering over little misunderstandings! Quit your arguing this instant!"

He couldn't believe it. Not once in his life did Eragon expect Murtagh to command people in such a way. Usually, it would be Nasuada or Saphira, but never him. His jaw dropped, in an attempt to say something, yet Eragon held his tongue.

"He speaks well," Nasuada said. "Now, let us unload the fifty men Murtagh was speaking of, and let us rest! The day is almost over, and we still have much ahead of us, and we still wait for King Orrin and his cavalry to return from the stables to the west of Belatona. This has been enough of a day for us all, and we must settle down now."

She looked to Jason. "Are the Killbots capable of healing all of our wounded?"

"How many do you have?"

"In the battle, fifty-four were killed, and twenty-one were wounded, seventy-five casualties combined. When the second attack came, eighteen were killed and twelve wounded. There are thirty-three wounded."

"Are you kidding? That's gonna be _too easy _for them. You won't even have to use your healers. They'll do it in less then ten minutes."

Nasuada nodded. "Very well, then we shall let them heal the wounded once we get settled down."

Eragon stepped forward. "Those healing beams the Killbots fire-what magic do they use? They are more advance th-."

"Let us rest!" Nasuada sternly cried, and Eragon nodded and backed down.

_-Later that night, in the slashers' camp-_

Jason walked into the little cabin, and sighed as he shut the door behind him.

The cabin was the official camping headquarters of the slashers, while they were in Belatona. It had quickly and crudely been constructed by several craftsmen of the Varden, though it was large and sturdy enough to hold the nineteen slasher film killers, especially the 8'4 Pumpkinhead and six foot tall Tall Man.

Jason walked over to one of the beds and crashed right onto it, out of pure exhaustion. He kicked his shoes off, which ended up accidentally hitting Chucky right in the head.

"Hey! Watch where the hell you kick your damn shoes! You could have killed me!"

"Oh, quit whining! You're less than three fee tall, but you sure have a giant mouth and a piss poor attitude! Plus, how could a pair of damn shoes kill you?!" Freddy sneered, and Chucky shot him an angry glare before he looked away and continued to mumble to himself.

At that moment, the cabin door opened, and the three Killbots rolled in, alongside The Prowler and his son The Miner, as well as Cropsy.

"Did you get all of those wounded guys fully healed?" Chrosmekull interestedly inquired.

"Yes, Mr. Cromeans, the wounded individuals are mostly restored to their former state of healthy equilibrium, save for one man," one of the Killbots replied as they moved to a large iron chest. "Scanning for materials of note."

Seventeen seconds of silence, save for the humming from the Killbot, passed, before the Killbot's original green module came back on, and it beeped.

"This chest is crafted of of 58.6% iron, 14.3% hardened calcium substrate, and 27.1% white phosphorous. Within the chest, there is quartz, diamond, and some kind of unidentified igneous stone, and from what I am reading, it is sturdier than the diamond itself. With it is an odd form of energy, called magic, along with another unknown form of energy called raw energy. It is quite crude, yet combined, could be highly dangerous."

"How dangerous, Protector 3?" Ghostface asked the Killbot, addressing it by its proper title.

Protector 3 beeped. "Powerful enough to render this whole city uninhabitable, and destroy everything within five miles. There is also 18% U-235 inside the chest, and with it, heavy atomic energy. Combining the U-235 with the materials inside could be enough to vaporize everything in a _twenty mile _radius, and release enough fallout so as to render everything in that radius uninhabitable for at least two centuries."

"Hold it, hold it! Did you say that this chest is made of 27.1% white phosphorous? The same kind they use in offense rockets and missiles?" Prowler gasped.

"Yes, sir. If the white phosphorous is combined with the materials inside, it would be, safe to say, _devastating_," Protector 3 droned. It then then moved toward Jason.

"There is also some critical information I must address at this moment, Mr. Voorhees, to you and all in here. Looking into its green visor module, Jason rasped, "Go on, then. What did you find out?"

"I discovered, along with Protectors 1 and 2, that to activate a portal of any kind back to our realm, it requires a certain artifact known as the Uni-Silo, which needs a fuel reserve of quartz, molten sapphire, and some sort of material known as brightsteel. It also needs a combination of several types of energy:electrical, heat, light, magnetic, atomic, and this newly discovered magical energy."

"And just where is this Uni-Silo?" Cropsy grunted.

"No other information regarding this artifact has been discovered," Protector 2, the one with the red visor module, beeped as it rolled in beside Protector 3. "Nothing of this installations history, its properties and qualities, it's location, or whether it even exists any longer, has been found out, besides its requirements to work and the fact it can open portals between universes."

Jason groaned and fell back onto his bed. _Great, just what we need. We can't get back home unless we find some Uni-Shit which, for all we possibly know, might not even exist anymore. And we still have to fight a war in this backwater stone age world!_, he thought to himself.

"You think we should report this to the Eragon kid and that Nasuada lady?" Candyman asked Jason.

"It can wait until tomorrow, I'm sure," Jason groaned as he turned on his side and faced the wall, before turning his head back around and peered at The Miner and The Prowler. "Did you two manage to help put out the fires along that wall?"

"Yeah," Miner answered. "We also helped to throw the captured soldiers into the prison cells in the keep, though after hearing most of the soldiers couldn't fight because they had sworn an oath to the king in that magical language, I wondered why they weren't just executed."

"Did you guys eat?" Jason asked.

"Yeah, but honestly, the food was soggy and undercooked, and the roast especially was way too sweet. I get it's a stone age world, but you'd think they would at least be advanced enough to know how to cook damn fried chicken!" Prowler hissed, as he took off the cloth rag covering his face and his helmet.

"Well, at least we know we aren't gonna starve, of which would be worse than not getting home," Jason yawned as he pulled up the blankets and soothed the pillow. "And now, I think it's time we all got some sleep. Good night, everyone."

They all seemed to agree, and as The Creeper moved and pinched the candle lights between his fingers, snuffing them out, all of the slashers moved to their beds, while the Killbots shut down into "Hibernate" mode, and Freddy said, "While you're all sleeping, I might be able to go to "sleep", so to speak, and kill any of those sleeping Empire soldiers. What do you think of that?"

Jason merely grunted as he shifted slightly in bed before resting still again.

"You do what you gotta do," Michael said before yawning and pulling the blankets up to his chin. "Good night."

Once the candles were out, The Creeper pulled off his hat and simply fell onto his bed, and instantly fell asleep, without even pulling the blankets up or anything.

"Good night," Freddy groaned as he closed his eyes, and vanished from the cabin, ready to enter the minds of any nearby Imperial soldiers and turn their slumbers into nightmares.

_-Early morning, next day-_

As Eragon awakened, he groaned, scratching his head as he pushed aside the heavy wool blankets and removed the silken covering. He forced himself out of the bed, and groaned yet again as his back ached, his reward for sleeping in a crouched, tight position.

Eragon yawned as he opened the door, which unleashed an annoying creak as it opened, before he slowly made his way down the stairs.

_Well, you have awakened earlier than usual, I must say_, Saphira chuckled to him through their telepathic connection. He hissed bitterly as he made his way toward his drawer, where his clothes were. He was getting ready to change his nightwear for his more formal and common day clothing.

_Why are you up so early then?_, he asked her. _Because, you are my partner of heart and kind, and so I would obviously take notice if you had suddenly awakened_, she replied.

Eragon was finally dressed into his day clothing, when he heard a knock on the pitted steel bound door.

"Who is it?" he asked, though it was much more of a mumbling, tired groan than a question.

"May I please enter?" he heard Nasuada ask in reply, and he simply groaned, "Yes."

The knob turned slightly before Nasuada, wearing an olive green robe and jewel encrusted necklace, slipped in and shut the door behind her. "My, my, you certainly look eager for several more hours of long hard rest. Why, you are hunched like a weary Ra'zac, and you have purple rings of near darkness under your eyes. Did you sleep well?"

"Well, I still managed to _sleep_, so to speak, but my mind was incapable of rest. Freddy came into my dreams, and asked if he had permission to use his powers to enter the psyches of sleeping Imperials and slay them in their sleep. I protested that it would be cowardly and dirty, but he kept insisting it would be an easier way to win the war, so I decided it would be best for him to get your approval."

"And I let him," Nasuada sternly said, causing Eragon's jaw to drop as he burst into outrage.

"What?! Are you insane?! That is cowardly fighting! Only weaklings slay a man while he is helpless and unprotected! How could you allo-!"

"He is right, you know. With the slashers on our side now, we must do everything we can to topple the Empire, and it will possibly be the only way to take down Galbatorix. Even with you and Saphira, and now Murtagh and Thorn, with us, Galbatorix is still around one hundred times much more powerful than you all combined. The slashers look to be our most advanced and strong allies, and I would not mind using dirty tactics to show Galbatorix we are not ready just yet to back down," Nasuada chastised, as Eragon prepared to say something more, but he stopped and hesitated.

"And furthermore, I believe it is time we go get some breakfast, and King Orrin and his troops will be coming back from the stables very soon. They have managed to secure the area, yet he says it was with help from some unknown, bizarre individuals."

This instantly piqued Eragon's interest. "What kind of individuals is he talking about?"

Nasuada merely shrugged as she pulled open the door. "He has said nothing else of it. He did not show us the individuals in the scrying mirror, and so far, his troops have still not arrived."

Eragon simply sighed as he walked out of the room with Nasuada, the door slamming shut with a resounding _boom_.

He hoped it would be somebody worth fighting alongside.

_-Later that Day-_

The Varden waved their banners and flags, cheering as King Orrin and his remaining cavalry, along with the foot soldiers he had taken, returned, slowly marching into the central plaza of the keep as the men, dwarves, elves, Urgals, and werecats parted aside and made way for the huge, black and brown chargers, the snorts and bellows of the beasts virtually unheard as they paraded through the joyfully shrieking men. Nasuada, Saphira, Eragon, Orik, Nar Garzhvog, Arya, and Grimrr Halfpaw stood in the front, but way back in the sidelines, stood Murtagh, Thorn, and the slashers.

Orrin grinned widely as he made his strides through the city, as he had always enjoyed being bathed in glory and appraisal. He wanted the Varden to see how he had won, and how he was the "hero" of the west stables. Yet once Orrin had passed, the four bizarre individuals who had joined him and his cavalry were gazed upon, and the joyful shrieks were replaced by silent, puzzled stares and murmurs.

The first two men were side by side, one of them wearing a sky blue, long sleeved shirt which looked like some kind of uniform, of which the left chest area was brazen with a large golden flat plate of some kind, of which was also at the forefront of his odd black helm upon his head, which had a curve pointing forward at the bottom. His face was twisted and scarred, and had a straight cut running from the end of the right of his lips to the tip of his right ear. His brown hair was mostly hidden by the cap on his head, and there was something about his sneer that could leave the strongest man frozen with fear.

The man right next to him was all the more bizarre, wearing an unbuttoned dark red jacket of thin cloth, with a large capital "D" over the left chest area, while the jackets wrist cuffs were a blend of yellow and red stripes. His head and face were hidden by a mask which looked like the face of a smiling old man, his eyes also hidden, and atop his head was a hat which was red and yellow striped and branched out at the top, with bells attached to the ends.

Just behind them was a figure whose head and face was entirely obscured by a large black, dome-like helmet, and in the figure's right hand was a machete similar to Jason's, except curved near the tip of the blade.

The last to come made them question as to whether a person was even there, as it was simply an axe floating in mid-air, with no visible creature holding it.

Orrin focused on only the people he had not yet moved through, not on the puzzled soldiers, though in his line of sight, he thought he saw a trickle of ruby red in the back. It was hazy at first, but as his horse clopped closer, he realized it was a dragon, and he knew of only one red dragon.

_Thorn_.

"HALT!" he screeched, and everything came to a stop. He lifted his sword and pointed at Thorn. "That beast is here-he is ready to attack us! Kill him, along with wherever Murtagh is!"

The Surdans foolishly listened to their selfish king, and they loosened their arrows and spears into the air, aiming so as to let them land on Thorn. As soon as they flew into the air, however, the arrows and spears froze in mid-air before shaking and bursting into useless metal and wood shards, while a select few simply dropped to the ground and bent to the point they were ineffective for combat.

"Oh, so clever, Murtagh and Thorn! Using a spell so as to render our missiles useless, and leave us weakened and unprepared! I should have guessed that you would turn on us again the moment I-!" Orrin hissed, only for his horse to buckle beneath him and neigh in fear before racing forward, causing Orrin to fall off.

"You would even use my own cavalry against me? Go ahead, then, slay us a-!" he was shouting as he shook his fist in the air, only to look up and see the creature his horse had fled from in fear.

Pumpkinhead uttered a low growl, like that of an engine ready to burst. The beastly sound caused several more of the horses to blanch before riding off, throwing their riders off of them.

"Oi, Murtagh and Thorn!" Orrin squealed, this time in fear. "What ugly demon have you brought with you? Is this your offer of **_peace_**?"

Pumpkinhead leaned down and grabbed Orrin by the cuff of his shirt before lifting him up its face, eight feet higher, and roared in Orrin's face, unleashing a stench like that of a pile of bodies in mud and blasting yellow saliva into his sights.

A soldier of the Surdan cavalry saw his king in danger, and hurled a spear right toward Pumpkinhead's head.

What he didn't expect was for the creature to turn unnaturally and impossibly _fast _and let the spear hit its left eye and bounce off without leaving a scratch. The soldiers were left dumbfounded as Pumpkinhead threw Orrin into the crowd of Varden troops, picked up the spear, and snapped it in half by placing the weapon between its index finger and thumb and squeezing.

"Peace, Orrin," Nasuada said as she walked over and helped Orrin up. "He is allied with us now, as are Murtagh and Thorn. They told us in the Ancient Language that their True Names have changed, and they brought with them fifty men wishing to fight against the Empire."

"How can you be certain? They just destroyed our weapons, and-"

"Nay, _Orrin_, it was I who had prevented those arrows from hitting Murtagh and Thorn," Tall Man said, walking into the scene.

"And just who are you?" Orrin grunted through clenched teeth, and he felt a light tap on the side of his head. He swerved his head around, only to see a Sentinel, and he gasped in fear as he stumbled back, clutching onto Nasuada to keep from falling.

"I am the Tall Man, as everyone calls me. My true name is-" but he stopped at that and simply smiled as the Sentinel floated back into his open hand. "Ah, and I see four more of our kind have arrived."

"You know them?" Nasuada asked as she raised an eyebrow, Tall Man raising an eyebrow in return.

"Of course, Lady Nasuada, as they as well are slashers, just like us," he flatly said, pointing to two leading individuals.

Eragon's jaw dropped as he heard this. "_More _slashers? How?!"

"Well, I myself am a bit confused by all this and how we got here, son," the man with the gold plate on his chest grunted, before stepping forward and stretching his right arm out. "Officer Matt Cordell, _**former **_police officer of the New York Police Department."

Eragon reluctantly shook his hand, as he asked, "What do you mean by former?"

Cordell seemed to squint his eyes as he gritted his jagged teeth. "Well, you see, I was doing-"

"You were doing your mom!" Freddy laughed as he raised his gloved hand and pointed at Cordell's instantly steaming face. "Seriously, Cordell, your little sob story can wa-" only for Jason to step in and push him back.

"The comedy club can wait, Freddy," Jason hissed as he glared at the much shorter killer, causing him to murmur and shrink back, as Jason turned to face the Surdan king.

"I heard much about in this short time, King Orrin," Jason said as he came face to face with the kin, even though he towered over him. "I heard you were already allied with the "Varden" here. Now, I would like to ask you if you would accept us allying with you."

Orrin opened his mouth to speak, but shut it. He simply looked up at the hockey mask wearing man, and hissed.

"Er-and just who are you, sir?" Orrin asked, as he kept his hand steady on his sword.

"Jason. Jason Voorhees, and declared leader of the slashers here, including Pumpkinhead, Freddy Krueger, Tall Man, Michael Myers, Leatherface, Ghostface, Crospy, Prowler, Miner, Candyman, Chromeskull, Madman Marz, the three Killbots, Chucky, The Creeper, and Pinhead," he answered, motioning to all of the other currently allied slashers behind him as they gathered.

"We have already allied ourselves with the Varden and their forces here at Belatona, King Orrin. Now, my question is:will you ally with us?" Jason asked of the king.

The king spat at Jason's feet and laughed menacingly, sneering into Jason's eyes. "You are all ugly, disgusting beasts! A better question would be:what if I say _**no **_ to your demonic pact?"

"Then there would be one violent reckoning, you douchebag!" Chucky screamed as Jason unsheathed his machete, before the doll leaped up and grabbed the King of Surda by the throat, and brought him down, and the murderous doll brandished his knife.

_**Yeah, yeah, I know, crappy cliffhanger, but hey, it's all I could really come up with at the moment. You might be wondering:how did Maniac Cop and those three other slashers(who you should know, if you call yourself a true slasher nerd) arrive in Alagaësia? I might address that as one huge flashback in a later chapter, but for now, I'll stick with what I have.**_

_**But here is where you readers come in:the author Captiosus is writing a Halo x Inheritance Cycle crossover called Turn of the Tides(ToTT) and I am a gigantic fan of it. The problem is, though, I have kind of angered him, and refuses to say how the sneak peek of a chapter is going to be published. I need you dedicated readers to ask Captiosus in what format the sneak peek for the Bloodbath of the Burning Plains will be published(by format, I mean on his profile, one-shot story, or chapter). I would greatly appreciate it, and who knows? Perhaps I will reward you. But for now-R&R, R&R, and most importantly-R&R! Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays!:)**_


	8. Politics with a side of Headaches

_**Not much happens in this chapter, except the slashers actually get involved in the war(AKA politics and that boring bullshit), and I'm just hoping this one won't be a complete yawn-fest like a good portion of the other chapters. Sadly, this one will also be quite short. So, here it is, in all of its political and short "glory"(I use the word glory very loosely).**_

"No! No, someone, get _it off me! Get it away!_" King Orrin screamed as Chucky began to plunge the knife into his groin, it almost piercing its fleshy and bulbous target, before halting a few inches.

"Huh?" Chucky grunted as he tried to budge the knife forward, but it, along with his arm, stood firmly frozen in place. He tried to pull it back, but the results were the same. He heard a brief murmur, and looked up to see a bearded man with a nearly flat face, wearing a green and purple robe and tunic whispering some intangible words.

"YOU!" the living doll hissed. "You cast some damn spell to stop me from killing him, didn't you?!

The man instantly stopped his chanting and quickly shook his head, his beard shaking with him. His eyes grew large and his face went pale.

"_You're lying!_ You stupid bitch! You filthy slut! I'll teach you to fu-!" Chcuky began to roar, but was stopped when Jason suddenly leaned down and cupped his hand over his mouth, reducing Chucky's rantings to mere groans of outrage.

Quickly, Orrin gasped for air as he scrambled away, and ran back to a group of men, pointing to the doll, and whimpering, "Get that creature away from me! Do not let it touch me!"

"Oh, I'll do _more_ than just touch your stupid fat ass, you weak, cocksucking motherfuc-! Chucky roared, his arms stretching out to grab forward, but was promptly pulled back by the combined strength of Jason and Michael.

"Oh, come on, please let this stop..." Eragon moaned to himself.

"Let go of me! Let me at least cut out his sp-!"

Three loud bangs and corresponding flashes of light cut the doll short of whatever he was going to say.

"_Enough_," The Prowler hissed beneath his voice. "Enough. You all seem to be a bunch of whiny, ungrateful leeches who have a chronic backstabbing disorder. Including you, the son of a bitch who says he's a _king_," he snorted, lifting his weapon and pointing it directly at Orrin's heart. Orrin shuddered and shook his head, his mouth dropping open.

"You all want our support so damn badly? Then I say you all quit acting like a bunch of weak, squeamish children. Never have I seen an army more untrained and undisciplined, and leaders so wracked with greed and narcissism. From what I have heard so far, this Galbatorix is one sick motherfucker, and yet, _you people _oppose him. Ironic, huh?" Prowler chided. Orrin dipped his head and stared at his shoes.

"I-I think it is time we -end the parade n-now," Nasuada stammered, all of the men uttering mumbles of uncertain agreement.

Eragon simply stared at The Prowler. Amazed, he said, "I do not think any one of us here would have the true guts to criticize us like that, and even more, you managed to scare the living shit right out of King Orrin. You are now on our side, and so Galbatorix is now your primary, but to have King Orrin-it is unfortunate."

"Oh, shut your goddamn mouth, you dumbass tween. What the hell makes you think I can't just go right now and tear his entire army apart limb from limb?"

"It is simply a warn-"

"Warning of what?! Of all people, I shouldn't have to listen to a complete dickhead such as you!" the slasher snorted.

"You forget," Eragon began to growl with his empathy wavering, "I have powers of both magic and mind beyond your comprehension. Do not test me."

At this, Prowler spat out something akin to a laugh, or maybe it was a hiss of distaste. "What, you gonna make me pick a card?! What you really do not want, _bitch_, is to see how many ways _I_ could rip you to pieces. Go on, keep persisting like the asshole you are."

Eragon was about to shut up the man for good with a spell, when a hand came upon his shoulder. "Both of you, come-we have much to discuss," Nasuada coolly told them. Eragon shot Prowler one final look of hatred before he turned and said, "Of course, Lady Nasuada."

_-In the Meeting Room-_

"So, tell me please-how many of Galbatorix's forces are currently at Dras-Leona?" Nasuada asked the forty eight soldiers(the other two who had come with Murtagh were just civilians) and Murtagh and Thorn.

"Well, there are still only around six hundred eighty five soldiers in the city," a soldier by the name of Taurin began, "but we have learned of the plans that he has ordered five thousand soldiers from Kuasta, two thousand from Teirm, and three thousand from Narda to head to and defend the city. Even a select few hundred from Aroughs, including myself, were chosen to go to Dras-Leona. Of course, my True Name changed, and now, I shall fight with the Varden."

"But that is not all. Even as we speak, Galbatorix is sending soldiers from Urû'baen to the city, in phalanxes of at least three hundred each. He has even sent around eighty soldier between here and Dras-Leona. A paltry force of no match, sure, but there is no doubt more will arrive, and that they are immune to pain," Murtagh added bitterly.

"Then it urgently means we _have _to go take Dras-Leona. There is no such alternative as you have suggested, Orrin. If we manage to bypass the city, along with the eighty and more soldiers between here and there, we will still be caught at unawares, and perhaps even more so than usual, as Galbatorix has most likely also fortified the areas to the north and south of Dras-Leona and Urû'baen, including Enrtana. No, we must go," Nasuada said. "As promising as it may seem, we will have to take every city in our campaign before we reach Galbatorix, as we must weaken him."

"Weaken him?! How?! Even if he is economically crushed, Galbatorix will still be able to swat us aside like leaves in the wind, crowns and coppers or not! You forget, he is still the most magically formidable individual in this land, surpassing even the elves!" Orrin shouted, banging his fists on the table in frustration on this day. "Why we can we simply not ask of Lord Bradburn to let us stay in the city for a few more days?" he asked, turning to the governor himself. "My good sir, Lord Bradburn, may we so happen to have the chance to reside in your city for at least three more days, at the very finest?"

The governor seemed perplexed, and his gawking face made it all the more obvious of how out of place he looked(and personally felt) at this meeting.

"W-well, I am the leader of this city, but I believe it is not within my power to say if you may reside.."

"And why not?" Orrin growled.

"Well, you see, Galbatorix's agents forced me to swear an oath to the Empire in the Ancient Language, and everyone knows you cannot lie when you speak it-"

"I may be able to strip you, along with all under your command, of your oaths," Pinhead suddenly interjected. "That is, if I have the power to tamper with it. It seems my abilities can easily twist the effects of your so called "magic" in this realm."

"That may be so well and fine, but too many buildings have been wrecked, and there are now many Belatonians without a home. Not only do we not have many places left to house your army, it would look rude and pitiful if I placed your concerns over that of my own people. By the looks of it, the damage may take at least six weeks to all repair!" Bradburn said.

"We do not have six weeks, Bradburn," Nasuada replied.

"I know," Bradburn sighed.

Tall Man then raised an eyebrow and turned toward Protector 2, the Killbot(just like the other two of his kind) having remained entirely silent during the meeting.

"Do you Protectors, by any random chance, happen to have _any _kind of material tracking system? Something of which can detect the materials required for constructing whatever items these people need?"

"Negative, our creators never built us with anything more advanced than our currently installed GPS systems," the Killbot answered in it's usual monotone droning voice. "Our systems are only capable of mapping locations, but unable to map out the exact locations of actual individuals and objects."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Orik asked.

"In short, it means they cannot locate the needed materials," Tall Man said. "I might be able to use my Eye-Stalker Sentinels instead, but I have few right now as it is, and they are not as efficient when tracking non-human targets. But rest assured, if we somehow manage to gather all materials needed, we will quickly be able to rebuild your city, if your people are willing to cooperate."

"And just how long will that take?" Bradburn asked.

With this, Tall Man turned over to Protector 1 and leaned over, apparently talking to it, but they couldn't see or hear a thing, so it remained unknown as to what was going on. After around a minute of discussion, Tall Man finally said, "Ah, yes..." and turned back toward Bradburn. "At most, it will take a week and a half."

The governor's mouth simply hung low, his mouth incapable of saying anything of which summed up his complete astonishment. He blinked thrice, and closed his mouth before opening it again, attempting to speak, yet nothing came out.

"We may not even have a week, Tall Man," Nasuada suddenly interrupted with firm aptitude. "From what we are seeing and hearing, Galbatorix is more than prepared to attack us, and he will continue doing so until we are all dead, and Eragon and Saphira, along with possibly the slashers, are in his hands. The only obvious choice will be to take Aroughs, and then, Dras-Leona."

"What of this place you call Aroughs? Of what importance is it?" Freddy asked.

"Aroughs is the southernmost city in the Empire, just several miles from here and the city called Feinster," Eragon answered. "Aroughs is the final city left in the southern areas, and it will do no good if we take Dras-Leona, only to have an enemy still below us."

"Indeed. Fighting a two front war will certainly mean our defeat, as we are having a hard enough time dealing with the cities we have already captured," Nasuada said.

"Why? Cause your soldiers fight like shit?" Prowler snorted with that same damn voice.

"Excuse me? Did you just insult my army?" Nasuada hissed as she turned her head toward the slasher.

"Why yes, why wouldn't I? Your God-awful piece of shit _soldiers _usually just went running around screaming and waving their damn swords, but only actually fought when getting huddled into a corner by those even weaker grunts. If I had my way, I would give every single one of your bastards a dishonorable discharge for abandoning their duty! Your army is not going to attack another city until they get back in shape!" he yelled.

"Yet you are neither the leader of the Varden, nor are you the highest military commander," Jörmundur barked. "Why should we all listen to you?"

"Because _**I **_am probably the only one here who actually knows some thing about war! You all may believe yourself to be so high and mighty, and call your generals the finest of the finest, but when you all don't even see that your soldiers are bullshit and your tactics harmful, you all really need to take your goddamn shades off!" Prowler roared into the commanders face, every word sharpened into its own unique, crude insult, even the most normal word used against Jörmundur to cruel effect.

The commander paled, and tried to back away, only to fall out of his chair, the legs breaking.

"Anyone else like to ask why I'm better than you?" he spat, turning toward Nasuada. Her mouth hanging open, she quickly shook her head and breathed, "No, no."

Even though no one could see it because of the rag, everyone just knew that The Prowler was undeniably sneering, as he turned toward Eragon.

"You got anything to say against me, lapdog?" he snorted. Drawing his composure, Eragon cleared his throat before voicing himself.

"You are obviously an ignoramus," he hissed.

"Eragon!" Arya cried as she worriedly looked to him, and then to Prowler.

"That's right," Eragon continued. "You are a very ignorant man."

The Prowler scratched his head, in what looked like confusion. Lowering his arm, the man began laughing, as he leaned over and looked right in Eragon's eyes.

"An ignorant man, actually pointing things out? Isn't that kind of an oxymoron? Oh wait, I forgot that you're an uneducated hormonal teenager who rides a giant, blue, drooling lizard. I wouldn't expect you to say anything intelligent or worth contribution, lapdog," the man hissed.

Eragon was left dumbfounded as the man went back to his seat. He couldn't believe it. Nasuada, Jörmundur, and now himself had all been so horribly insulted, so cruelly questioned, and The Prowler had gotten away with it. There was nothing he could do to counter it.

"Er...now that that is all over, how are we to capture Aroughs?" Roran uneasily asked, after being silent the whole day.

"By training the army, dumbass," Prowler snorted. "You think you can just keep winning with dumb luck? Your strategies just seem to be rushing forward without concern for your cheap soldiers. Now, you let me train your army, I swear, I _can _make them into something that can fend for itself, not just by making a bunch of noises."

Nasuada sighed, putting her head in her hands as she made some kind of groaning noise. She bitterly looked up to the slasher, contempt in her glare, as she said, "Fine. You will start training five days from now. I will be sure to tell the soldiers of your arrival as a commander."

"Good," The Prowler chuckled. "At least you are starting to get some sense."

_She must be kidding!_, Eragon thought to Saphira. _She can't make The Prowler a commander of the army! Who knows how he could abuse his position?!_

_I still hate that man for insulting my race_, Saphira snarled. _I must agree, The Prowler seems too bloodthirsty and outright controlling to be in such a high and prestigious position._

Cordell swallowed. "Can we please call a recess?"

Orrin turned toward him. "A _what?_"

"A recess," the officer began to explain, "is a break, such as lunch, during a political meeting, most of the time used to relieve tension."

"Something we desperately need right now, as it shows," Orik grumbled.

"Are you saying there is tension here, Officer Cordell?" Nasuada asked.

He smirked. "Oh no. With an argument over military leadership, bickering over materials to rebuild a city, and confusion over which place to conquer next, I believe we are doing _just fine_," Cordell sarcastically summarized.

"So, in other words, there is tension," Arya replied.

"Yes."

Nasuada looked to Jason, and asked of him, "Mr. Voorhees, I am afraid you will have to order the rest of your slashers to leave. It is nothing personal, but I want only the leaders of our factions here. That includes these forty eight soldiers you have brought, Murtagh."

Jason turned and nodded to the twenty two other slashers, who mostly nodded in return and walked out of the huge tent. Likewise, the forty eight soldiers followed.

Once the room had been cleared, narrowing it to just the thirteen of them, Nasuada heaved a sigh of obvious relief, tiredly saying, "Finally, the room is no longer crowded, and I don't have to hear the voices of so many confused and bickering people!"

_Is there something bothering you Lady Nasuada?_, Thorn confusedly asked her.

"I declare this meeting officially over," she sighed.

"What? But we still have much to discuss!" Eragon protested.

"You all heard me," she hissed, looking up into the Rider's face. "You can leave now. This meeting is finally over."

"But-!"

"It is over, and that is final!" she cried, jumping up out of her chair. "Leave-now!"

Seeing Nasuada was in no mood for any more protesting, they obeyed and departed the tent for their quarters as twilight began to approach. Though as Roran began to slip out of the tent, he felt a hand come down on his left shoulder. He turned around to see Nasuada's stern face.

"You stay here, Stronghammer. I have something to assign you."

_**So, yeah. In my strong opinion, this chapter really could have been better, and to me, felt very rushed. I just didn't feel like there was anything attention grabbing in this chapter. But hey, that's what I'm thinking. R&R. The short little preview for the Siege of Dras-Leona will come up shortly. And by the way, I need a good cover for this story, so if any of you guys can cook something good up, I will highly appreciate it.  
**_


	9. PREVIEW-Operation:Sin City

As he stood just outside a small portion of clobbered yellow huts and smoking hovels, Eragon watched as the soldiers of the Varden and Surda gathered into the central pavement one hundred yards from the gate that led into Dras-Leona, of which was being blocked by a six hundred foot wall of granite and marble rubble. The wall itself was much more than three thousand feet tall, and constructed of bronze encrusted elm wood.

Within the city, at least according to the modules of the Killbots, there were nearly eight hundred eighty thousand Imperial troops, and that wasn't even taking into consideration the number of magicians and manned siege engines.

At first, there were many who complained as to why Saphira and Thorn could not just fly up and tear the wall down themselves, and perhaps even go and take the city without the Varden's help. After all, the dragons could use their acrobatic flying skills to evade the arrows, stones and javelins from the catapults and ballista, and their armor was forged well by the dwarves.

That had all changed when they had learned of the turret weapons atop the the city walls, which quickly and ceaselessly fired small compacted rounds of dry mortar that were capable of tearing deep gaping holes in steel and iron armor. The Prowler had dubbed them polybolos, of which he had described were ancient stationary repeating ballista that could fire again and again without a need to reload, and had appeared in ancient siege warfare in their world.

The other soldiers posted atop the walls were mostly archers with either regular bows or crossbows, while the rest were spear-carriers and swordsmen. Besides the polybolos and arrows, the soldiers could just as easily drop stones and pour boiling water, oil, pitch, and tar down on any who dared to venture too close to the great walls.

By themselves, even with Thorn and Saphira, along with the thousands of troops with them, the Varden would not stand a chance against such an enormous legion, coupled with obviously superior weaponry. They would get overwhelmed before they could even take down the wall.

Though, it wasn't like the slashers were on leave or any shit like that.

As The Prowler was finishing coordinating the best marked placements for the archers, catapults, trebuchets, ballistae, and primitive mortars he had taught them to build, Jason walked by and carefully moved his eyes over the war machines. Being a slasher, he really wasn't accustomed to fighting and killing with anything besides either his trusted machete or anything small, sharp, and/or blunt. He just guessed Prowler was doing it right and walked off.

His examining of the preparations led him to walk directly into a conversation between Eragon, Roran, and Orik. The three instantly stopped chatting and turned to face the hulking, masked beast of a man.

"Jason," Eragon said as he saluted him. Jason nodded, turning to Roran as the men directly behind him were hard at work digging trenches to give the Empire less ground to maneuver on, while giving the Varden potential cover.

"Captain Stronghammer. Your men-I hope you've been able to order them into actual ranks, instead of a bunch of guys just crammed together," the hulking killer slowly murmured.

Nodding, Roran said, "My men have, since my return, been more than busy constructing your mortars and placing them in our trenches. As you said, it would do no good if any Imperial soldiers managed to charge out here and simply run up to them."

"How many made so far, Captain?" Jason asked.

"So far, around thirty."

Acknowledging the information, Jason looked down right at Orik. The dwarf king saluted him with his fist to his chest, and, due to custom, Jason returned the salute. Clearing his throat, Orik began to report on the placements of the troops both under his command and Roran.

"Mine soldiers have each been placed in ranks according to strategic importance. The weakest dwarves, the one who wield the likes of pikes and mere daggers, shall be in the back, and will be only for last resort. Those leading shall be carrying both axes and maces, so as to cause maximum damage to the Empire so they cannot react properly. The other men are under the command of Roran, Martland Redbeard, and Jörmundur. The Varden and Surdans shall follow behind them, and the Urgals have finished positioning themselves under Nar Garzhvog. We shall attack at the slightest word," Orik assured.

"And what of the elves that Queen has sent?" Jason asked as he looked at Eragon.

Ever since The Battle of Belatona, the elven queen Islanzadí had been sending several of her elves to the Varden to fight with them, though it was only a small amount.

"Twenty," he said. "She has sent to us twenty more of her elves. They shall be led by Arya and Blödhgarm."

Leaving the three to their preparations, Jason walked over to where The Prowler was standing, examining the mortar in the trench and barking at the men to hurry and finish assembling the siege tower and the last two catapults.

Without him even having to say anything, The Prowler noticed Jason and turned toward him.

"I take it you've come to tell me what to do," the older, military clad man sneered outright. "Just because you lead those twenty one other bitches, doesn't mean you have the right to tell _**me **_what to do."

"Um...no. I just came to tell you the strategy I've decided upon," Jason uneasily said. He never understood why Prowler, his own uncle, had to be a giant, difficult asshole to everyone around.

"Very well, then," Prowler smirked. "Besides-I don't think it would make a good impression if people saw me beating my own nephew up. Anyways, what do you have?"

"Well, immediately after the missiles have been fired and the battering ram manages to knock down the gate, you, me, and the twenty one other slashers charge forward. The idea is to engage the remaining soldiers while cutting a large swath through their troops. If we manage to use enough skill and brutality, coupled with luck, we can kill enough of the painless soldiers so as to lessen the amount the Varden and their allies need to fight, while demoralizing their weaker, normal forces."

"And after we say "go", the Varden follows directly in?" Prowler asked in reply.

"Yeah. But what I need to make sure of right now is if you positioned the mortars and other siege weapons so as to not only take out the polybolos, but also the first twenty lines of men in the city, which are compromised of nothing but axemen, and the four ballistae mounted directly behind them. At least, that's the info according to the Killbots. Otherwise, even with us, the Varden's troops are gonna get splattered," Jason remarked.

"Oh, don't you worry," Prowler answered, and with that tone, Jason could tell he was grinning under the cloth rag. ""I've properly mounted all siege engines and artillery, as well as archers, at strategic choke points, and got them all pointing both just a few feet above and at the gate and the other parts of the walls, so as to both directly hit and go over and hit the designated ground troops, and the explosions will probably cause a bit of collateral damage. Civilian property collateral damage, mind you."

Jason got a bit disappointed at that. After that idiot woman at Belatona slapped him, he was more than willing to make the citizens of the Empire(save for the children) cry for mercy. Oh well, at least they were going to destroy their property and livelihoods.

At that very moment, Nasuada rode up to them upon her black charger Battle-storm. Dismounting herself from the saddle, she walked to the two slashers.

"Are the archers and siege engines ready for battle, Prowler?" she asked.

"Almost. We just have to finish up these last two catapults and this final siege tower, and then, our men will be ready to storm that city without hesitation," the man confidently said in reply.

"Good. Let the men know that Operation:Sin City shall take effect at the beginning of civil dusk tonight."

_**And that's all of the Siege of Dras-Leona(codenamed Operation:Sin City) that I'm gonna give you guys until I get to the actual full chapter. The actual ninth chapter is gonna come in at least a month. Until then, R&R.**_


	10. Chapter 9:Of bigotry and crazed miners

_**Hopefully, this chapter won't take too long to publish. Finally, I can now focus more on this now that CTE has been completed. That's all I can say.**_

"Yes?" Roran asked as Nasuada motioned for him to sit down on one of the chairs in the tent.

Reverting back to her matter-of-fact tone that she used before the debacle that was the previous meeting, she said, "I have a mission for you, Stronghammer. Our troops sent to take Aroughs have met stiff resistance-much more than we anticipated. The man sent to lead the siege, Captain Brigman, has found no way to resolve the situation, and we need those men back now, as many as we can have if we are to attack Dras-Leona. Therefore, I am sending you to Aroughs to replace Brigman as the leader of the troops. You shall leave two days after now, and a horse will wait for you by the south gate. You will ride as fast as possible to Feinster, then from there to Aroughs. Fresh horses shall be waiting for you every ten miles between here and Feinster. Past that, you will have to find replacements on your own. I expect you to reach Aroughs in the span of four days, leaving you with three days after that to end the siege and capture Aroughs."

She paused for two seconds, before continuing. "A week after you leave, Stronghammer, I want our banner over Aroughs. I do not care how you manage it; I simply want it over with. Should you fail, I will have no choice but to send Eragon, Saphira, Murtagh, and Thorn to Aroughs, which will leave us barely able to defend ourselves should Galbatorix decide to show himself and attack."

_And if that happens, Katrina shall be in danger, and will most likely end up dead_, Roran thought to himself. An unpleasant felling settled over him. Riding from Belatona to Aroughs in only four days would indeed be a miserable journey, for despite the fact he had been healed, it was autumn and the sheer amount of recent rain and hail would ruin what supplies he had. Capturing the city in such a small period of time would be combining misery with madness.

"I don't have any experience with sieges. At least, not like this," he uneasily responded. "There has to be somebody else within the Varden who would be more adept at this. What about Martland?"

Nasuada seemed to scoff. "Martland cannot ride at full gallop with just a single hand. You should have at least a bit more self-confidence, Stronghammer. Yes, there are many among the Varden who have been in the field of battle longer, and who have received training from the finest soldiers of generations past, yet when blades are drawn and the trumpets of battle are sounded, it is whether you can _win _that matters most, not knowledge or experience. Winning seems to be a skill you have mastered, and what's more, you are incredibly lucky."

Moving aside a stack of papers, she sat back down and leaned on her arms. "You have proven to all that you can fight. You have proven that you can lead a raiding party. And you have proven you can follow given orders-of course, when they please you."

He bit back his lip as he remembered the venomous bite of the whip cutting into his back after he had defied captain Edric's orders.

"And so, Roran, let us see if you are capable of soemthing more, shall we?"

He sighed heavily. "Very well then, my Lady."

"Good. I shall promote you to the rank of captain for the time being. Should you succeed at Aroughs with the orders I have given, you can consider the title permanent. That is, at least until you prove yourself of greater or lesser honors."

Nasuada then returned her attention to the papers. She started to sort through the overwhelming stack, evidently searching for something important underneath.

"Thank you."

Nasuada responded with a faint, affirmative grunt.

"How many men shall be under my command once I make it to Aroughs?" he asked out of curiosity.

"I gave Brigman a thousand men. Of those, only around eight hundred remain who are still fit for duty."

Roran nearly sword out loud. _Damn! So few!_

Nasuada looked up as if though she had heard him. "We were led to believe Arough's defenses would be easier to overwhelm than what has been reported," she said in a dry tone.

"May I take several men of Carvahall with me? You said once that you would let us serve together if-"

"Yes, I know what I said. Take whomever you wish to, just so long as they are truly competent. Tell me how many are going with you, so I may see to it that the needed number of horses are waiting on your journey."

"May I also take Carn with me?" he asked, referring to the magician he had fought with on several occasions.

To his relief, she nodded, and continued digging through the stack. "Ah, yes, here it is." She slowly pulled out a tube of parchment sealed with a leather strap. "This is a map of Aroughs, as well as a larger and more detailed map of Fenmark province. I believe you should study them both with care and attention."

He slipped the tube into his tunic once she handed it to him. "Now, here is your commission"-she handed him a rectangle of parchment sealed with red wax- "and here are your orders. Allow Brigman to see and read them, but do not allow him to keep them."

He felt like he should have left by then, but Roran stayed to ask just one more thing:

"May I take some of the slashers with me?"

Nasuada shot her head up, and narrowed her eyes. "You can have only one slasher, Stronghammer."

"Why just one? I could take Aroughs with at least a handful in just the first day!" he protested. He could not believe the terms she was setting for this mission.

"Because, it will be just like Eragon and Saphira. If we do not have almost all of the slashers with us when we come to Dras-Leona, we will not be able to properly defend ourselves should Galbatorix decide to show up. And so, you can take only one. Besides, I have already chosen the one."

Roran dipped his head. He realized she was correct. "Very well, then, who is the slasher to come with me?"

"The Miner."

Roran nearly bit into his tongue hearing the name of the slasher who had been selected. "What?! Are you _kidding _me?! Of all twenty three of those murderers with us, you pick _him_? He's just a weak little man with a rusty old pickaxe! Why can you not send one of the more powerful and durable slashers, like Jason, or Michael, or Pinhead?!"

"I believe you two would fight side by side the best," was all Nasuada murmured in reply.

Roran was furious, wondering how in the world he could fight with something like that mere creature. Still, he kept his mouth shut, for he realized that if he kept protesting, Nasuada would strip him of his honor and rank and would give the mission to someone else.

"Fine, fine, I'll depart and prepare at once."

"I appreciate that. Thank you."

"By your leave, my Lady..."

Turning, Roran strode toward the flap out of the huge tent.

Just as he was about to pull himself out, he heard Nasuada call him. "Oh, and Stronghammer?"

He looked back. "Yes?"

"Try not to burn Aroughs down. Cities are quite hard to replace."

_-POV change-_

Nasuada sat upon her desk in the red pavilion. She gazed out the window at the scorched street. She said not a single word as she remembered the white pavement, the shining silver gutters taking in the garbage and filing it into the sewers. No more, ever since the slasher named Cropsy and his fire breathing weapon came into this realm. Now, not a single house remained from his rampage.

"What do you think of it?" she asked, turning her attention to King Orrin, who was lying on the couch against the wall. He sternly turned as his expression became bitter.

"I say it is unnatural. One man should not be able to bring an entire city to it's knees. And yet, twenty three of those men are now here, and with us," he hissed. He raised his goblet and took another swig of the wine inside.

She grew uneasy as she focused upon the king. In the short while since the Varden and the Surdans had allied and launched their assault upon the Empire, Nasuada had watched Orrin turn ever more serious, his quirks and enthusiasm falling beneath a grim exterior. She had been relieved by by it when it first came, for she believed he was growing more mature, but as the war progressed, she found herself wanting back his former eccentricities. What's more, she realized he would be a much more dangerous and ruthless rival for the leadership of the Varden in his current state.

_Could I be happy if I was married to him? Would he make a good husband, and a proud father?_,she thought to herself as he went back to looking at the wrecked city.

Orrin placed his hands upon the stone window sill, now looking specifically at the charred remains of a vineyard.

"You must break your pact with the slashers."

His statement shocked her to her very core. "And just why should I do that?"

He glared at her. "Because, they are hurting us all. Already, word of how we achieved our victories, rather than simply the victories themselves, is spreading through the Empire. Though we do not hear or see it just yet, men are cursing us with a terrible defeat for allying with hideous, disgusting mass murderers and monsters. The fact that Galbatorix is resisting our advances makes so much sense to them because of our concord with _Jason _and his petty little friends. You cannot explain such incomprehensible beasts to the common farmer. All he can see is that twenty three masked and ugly killers are marching towards his home, led by a snarling dragon and a Rider who looks more like an elf than a human."

"We need their assistance. We have too few men as it already is, and each slasher is like one thousand men rolled into one," Nasuada argued in reply.

"Honestly, do we need them as badly as you believe? You seem to think what that Prowler fool is saying is actually true! Our men can fight, and we do not need a giant demon or a burnt dream killer to advance upon the Empire. We have come this far; the slashers are unneeded and unwanted," he snarled, grasping his goblet and emptying it into his mouth.

"You speak madness. Galbatorix obviously now knows of our alliance, and so he will most likely use all at his disposal to destroy us. If we shoved away the slashers now, we would be unprepared for the horrors Galbatorix is using. Besides, they would also probably turn on us, and it would be a bloodbath if we had to fight them and the Empire," Nasuada said, now getting clearly annoyed by Orrin's bigotry.

"We could just get Saphira and Thorn's breaths of flame, and those slashers would be helpless as they are turned to ash in seconds! And still, you make no good argument against the fact that we do _not _need the slashers! We have Eragon, Saphira, Murtagh, Thorn, and even the elves should they fail for some reason! Not to mention, if they fail as well, Roran Stronghammer. We have more valuable combat assets than even Galbatorix," Orrin sneered.

Nasuada frowned. "The slashers are, despite their murderous nature, capable of more than just combat. Those three Killbots can heal all of our wounded without so much as a need for more energy, and not even Eragon or Murtagh are able to re-attach limbs after a certain time period. Plus, they can revive the combatants close to death. Pinhead, as has been demonstrated, can twist, subvert, and cancel out our magic, and can even strip a person of oaths in the Ancient Language, something not even the elves can do. The Tall Man's Eye-Stalker Sentinels can search for and find materials we need, and track down human targets."

Orrin opened his mouth to keep arguing, yet Nasuada continued, which she knew angered him.

"And they are most useful as psychological weapons. Their inability to disregard even fatal wounds and not die, specifically in the case of Pumpkinhead, is enough to strike terror into the hearts of a group of the Laughing Dead," she stated, referring to the widespread term the Varden used when talking about the men who couldn't feel pain.

Orrin snarled before bitterly sitting back down on the couch. "So you will not break your pact with them?"

"No."

He snorted. "I figured."

She went over to him, sat by his side, and put her hand on his shoulder. "You seem to forget, four slashers came and helped you to win the stables. Do you really think you could have succeeded by yourselves, considering how outnumbered you were?"

Orrin sighed. "No. I guess not."

To Nasuada, it seemed as if though Orrin was not telling her something, something that had affected him deeply. However, she waited for him to reveal it, not wanting to press on any personal topics.

Finally, he began speaking to her of what troubled him. "We were making our way through the west wing of the stables, after securing the southern area. We suddenly heard a noise, and decided to investigate. Alongside me was a friend of mine who had grown up with me in Borromeo Castle, whom I do not believe you have ever met, and The Captain. Suddenly, a groom came screaming out, brandishing a pitchfork and nearly impaling my friend, were it not for The Captain, who managed to decapitate the groom."

"And what does that have to do with the slashers, besides The Captain being there?" Nasuada asked.

Orrin swallowed. "He was screaming nonsense about he was never going to surrender to horrible monstrosities, and stuff about how Galbatorix should reign forever. And he was willing to kill my friend to prove his point."

"I'm sorry that had to happen. But you cannot let the thoughts and actions of a few men get to your head. You must learn to judge for yourself and go by your opinion," Nasuada warned, though not in her usual stern commanding tone.

"Judge for myself," he said in a mocking tone. "Go by my own opinion."

"I know. It seems difficult, but you must sometimes make decisions that can benefit you the best, despite what others say. Take my alliance with the Urgals, for example. They killed my father, and yet I still allied with Nar Garzhvog, for I knew we could make them better creatures, and it would help against Galbatorix. Do you see?"

Orrin turned to look into her eyes. He shrugged. "I guess. Though I still think it is unnatural and terrifying."

Nasuada sighed as she turned to the now even larger stack of papers at the side of her table, before looking back at the city.

The coming week was going to be a long one.

_-POV change-_

Roran inhaled deeply as he raised his fist, before exhaling.

He knocked on the thin wood door.

It did not make a banging sound like most doors when knocked on, but instead an eerie, creaking noise, similar to old wood planks being crept upon.

_It suits them well_, he thought to himself as the door swung open.

Before him stood the towering form of The Tall Man, and just behind him, The Creeper.

"May I help you, boy?" Tall Man inquired, the question as pointed as an iron spike. Roran's mouth went dry, for if there was any slasher here that honestly frightened him, it was The Tall Man. The fact that he looked and spoke like any man, and yet, he was truly far from that...

"Well? Are you expecting us to throw money at you for just standing there?!" he heard The Prowler cry, as the crowd of slashers gathered to see who had come to knock on their door.

"Um, er-I m-must see The Miner," he finally managed to stutter, feeling small compared to the beasts before him.

"Oh, really?" Prowler laughed as he turned around. "Hey, son! Get the hell over here! That guy with the ugly hammer wants to see you!"

"_WHY?!_" Miner screamed, the noise not even slightly being hindered by the effects of his gas mask.

"I don't know! Just quit throwing a fucking fit, and get the fuck over here!" his father roared, his tone and colorful language catching the attention of several soldiers and citizens.

With an audible groan, Roran heard The Miner throw something heavy onto the floor with a resounding crash, before he stomped forward, leaving Roran wondering how his boots weren't smashing holes into the poorly built floor.

"What?" he grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he glared at his father.

The Prowler shrugged, before turning back to Roran. "I'll leave you two alone," he chuckled as he went back into the cabin, the other slashers following close behind.

"Well?" Miner asked in a sneering tone. "What do you need me for?!"

Roran found himself wanting to bash the young man over the head for his disrespectful, mocking attitude and tone of voice. He only restrained himself for the sake of the Varden and the need to conquer Aroughs.

"Lady Nasuada has assigned me a mission to capture the city of Aroughs, and she has chosen you to come with me."

"Me? Why me?" he asked in a very confused manner.

"I asked the same thing," he mockingly sneered, not hiding his words from The Miner. To his surprise, Miner looked hurt, and even crushed, by his words, judging by his sunken eyes.

"Come, then. Follow me. We are leaving soon," he said. "Nasuada has said we have two days to leave, but I want this over with now. I cannot risk the Varden losing time."

"Wait, I need to get some stuff," Miner said, walking back into the cabin. After some mumbling noises Roran presumed was talking, The Miner came back, his pickaxe clenched in his right hand. "Okay, I'm ready."

"If you will follow me," Roran uneasily said, still unsure of the slasher's prowess in combat.

He had yet to see.

_-POV change-_

"Seven men, seven horses," Nasuada firmly stated, issuing the command to the Varden's courier. "See to it that the designated amount is waiting for them by the south gate."

Nodding, the courier scampered out of the room. Orrin looked to her.

"Are you sure that this "Miner" will be competent enough to help us capture Aroughs, and quickly too?" he asked.

She nodded. "I am quite sure. I think we only have to tap into him a bit, and he will be a most valuable warrior. I can see it in him."

_**Now, for some grateful thanks to those who have read:**_

_**Elemental Dragon Slayer:yes, he is getting quite involved, and in the next chapter, The Prowler shall begin his training regiment, much to the dismay of many in the Varden's army...**_

_**Malbutorius:not just random insanity, VIOLENT random insanity.**_

_**brandon . ryan . 7374:you might think it's a good story, but really, it's pretty undeveloped compared to other crossovers, specifically Turn of the Tides by Captiosus, which I recommend to you fellow readers.**_

_**So, yeah. R&R. And by the way, I need a good cover for this story, so if anybody reading this can send me something good that fits with the story, that would be EXTREMELY appreciated. Next two chapters should come by pretty quickly.**_


	11. Chapter 10:Full Metal Jacket

_**This is going quicker than expected. So, in here, we finally get to start on The prowler's way of training the Varden's weak army. Let's just say he isn't gonna pull any punches...**_

"Svern. Come on, Svern, wake up! Svern?"

Svern groaned as he turned to the side, ignoring his friend as he tried to get at least a few more hours of sleep. He _really _was not happy with what was going to be happening today.

"Come on, Svern, wake up! You're not usually like this! Why won't you just wake up?" his friend groaned.

Svern quickly shifted to the side as he angrily turned to face him, before standing up out of his bed. "Because, I don't understand why we have to go training! I already know how to swing my sword, I can fight as good as any man! That Nasuada-first, she allies with the Urgals and elves, then the slashers, now we have to go back to training!"

"Complaining isn't going to make it much better," his friend grumbled.

"Does any one even know who is going to be our drill instructor?" Svern asked as he placed his wool jacket on, buttoning it to his chin.

His friend shook his head. "All we know is that it starts two hours from now, and ends at sunset."

Svern's jaw dropped. "An entire day of training? Whoever suggested this is out of their mind!" he cried angrily.

"I know, I know, it its absolutely ridiculous. And what is more, there are no breaks in this training!" his friend sighed.

Svern had no words for that as he and his friend stepped out of their tent, where many more soldiers, hundreds at least, were crowded and slowly moving forward.

_-Later On-_

It was an hour and fifty four minutes later when the men serving in the Varden's army were crowded in the huge brown pavilion, the incoherent chatter perfectly stylizing the confusion as the men mostly grumbled about why they needed training again and the ridiculous terms for this training program.

Finally, the door opened, revealing the slasher known as The Prowler, wearing his usual cloth rag and fatigues.

"Hey, look!" Svern's friend sneered as he nudged him on his shoulder and pointed. "Looks like we're gonna get help from the psychopath!"

Svern laughed, just as many of the other men turned and noticed The Prowler.

"_SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTHS!"_ the slasher roared, and instantly, all men quit talking, and their grins faded as they shrunk before the towering man.

"All right, you useless shithead faggots, here's the plan for today:we are first going to do some basic physical training, including a jog around the entire city, seeing as how you are all disgusting fatasses"-he pointed to a nearby soldier- "or nothing but skin and fucking bones!"-he now pointed directly at Svern himself, who gulped as he went red while everyone else stared at him.

"Then, I'm gonna make you do some basic combat safety drills, so you won't act like dumbasses and get yourselves shot and slashed to pieces as usual," the man snarled.

_Basic?_, Svern worriedly thought to himself, wondering what this man 's definition of "basic" and "usual" was.

"But first, I wanna hear a bit about your combat experiences:any of you weak motherfuckers know a thing or two about killing? Go on, I'd love to hear your stories."

The first man to raise his hand was a man that Svern knew:Oglivy, who fought with him in Feinster, and who now stood a good four feet away from Svern to the right.

"You!" The Prowler shouted, walking over to Oglivy. "What is your name, son?!"

"O-o-gl-livy," he stuttered, his skin turning bone white.

"_I ASKED YOU, WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR NAME SON?!" _The Prowler roared, staring Oglivy into the ground.

"OGLIVY!" Oglivy shouted back, his face contorting and turning red from his anger at being abused in front of everyone in the army.

"That's "Oglivy, SIR" to you, grunt!" Prowler sneered. "Now, tell me, Oglivy:what experiences do you have with killing a man in battle?"

He pondered for a few seconds. At last, Oglivy cleared his throat and began speaking.

"It was in the city of Feinster-," he began to say, but The Prowler cut him short.

"It was in the city of Feinster, SIR!" he cried, which again, infuriated Oglivy.

"It was in the city of Feinster, sir! I was patrolling a nearby alley, sir! A man burst out of a hole in the wall, and tried to stab me, sir! Suddenly, an arrow landed in his shoulder, and he turned around, sir! I thrust my sword into his back, and it came out of his stom-"

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" Prowler barked. "You're telling me, that you didn't even look this man in the eyes when you killed him? You didn't kill him in honest battle?!"

"Well, I guess not-"

"YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT KIND OF MAN STABS ANOTHER IN THE BACK? A DAMN TRAITOR!" The Prowler screamed, before grabbing Oglivy by his shoulders. "NOW DROP AND GIVE ME ONE HUNDRED FIFTY!"

Stepping to the side, Prowler thrust Oglivy forward, causing him to fall flat on his face. He didn't budge, and after a few seconds, The Prowler crouched to scream even more into his ears.

"What the hell is the matter, faggot?! Never done push-ups before? GET UP!"

And with that, Prowler began smashing Oglivy up and down, his face coming up and, just as quickly, crashing back into the hard oak floor. "One, two, three, four! See, you're doing just fine!" he laughed in a sarcastic, mocking tone, before picking Oglivy up and throwing him into a crowd of other Varden warriors.

"You cunts depress me! I think I'm gonna screw the jogging-and skip right to the good part!" he snarled.

Svern hoped to Angvard that the training would not tear him to bloody shreds.

_-At the training course-_

"All right, shitheads, here's the deal:you're gonna be crawling underneath that barbed wire and try to reach that wall as fast as possible. Once you reach it, I expect you to climb it and get to the other side as fast as possible as well, and once on the other side, I will come and will release the dogs. All while your fellow archers and I open fire on you," he explained.

Svern wondered how the hell they were supposed to even survive such an obstacle course. Seriously-dogs?! This slasher needed a full psychiatric checkup.

"NOW, GET UNDERNEATH THE BARBED WIRE!" he barked, and without hesitation, the men ran forward and fitted themselves beneath the wire, the ground covered in mud.

Svern readied himself. The best thing to do in such an ordeal, his father had told him, was to clear your mind and focus on only what needed to be done-

"NOW MOVE IT!"

So much for that advice.

As soon as the men began to slowly crawl forward, the twangs of bows being pulled and arrows zipping into the ground were heard all over. An arrow nearly struck Svern's right shoulder, missing by only a few inches, and blasting mud all over him. He yelped as the mud hit his eyes, forcing him to stop and rub out the residue.

"Keep moving!" Prowler cried, as he pulled out an odd, tube-like brown object. Pulling his finger back, the weapon rang like thunder and lit up as if though in flames, leaving only a smoke contrail behind as some sort of projectile crashed into the muddy ground and sent the mud flying everywhere. Pulling his finger back several more times, The Prowler's seemingly magical weapon threw most of the soldiers completely off focus, making them think the Empire really was attacking.

"Keep moving! Do you want to die?!" he shouted.

Svern felt the projectile hit the ground behind him, and it shook, disorientating him. Dazed, it took him several seconds to get back to his senses, and by that time, many were ahead of him.

_Damn it! Quit getting distracted!_, he angrily thought to himself, though the anger was more from already getting tired from this nightmare of a training day. How was this supposed to make him a better soldier?

An arrow suddenly landed in front of him, and he cursed his lack of attention. Grabbing it between his index and middle fingers, he tore out the arrow and flung it aside, before forcing himself to continue.

Trying to block out the noise, he tried to focus on just getting across to the wall, that was all that was needed to be focused upon. The only thing, that was the only task at hand.

Grasping the ground, he pulled himself forward, ignoring the mud clinging to his palms. Svern gritted his teeth as The Prowler's projectiles and arrows impacted the earth all around him, seeing only one thing:the wall.

"Come on, faster, faster! Focus, you dumbasses!" The Prowler said.

Svern crawled forward, and he could see the wall only just a couple of feet ahead, the sense of victory was practically in the air...

One of those projectiles hit the ground directly in front of him, making him pause. Once again, he was blinded, forcing him to clean out the residue.

"COME ON!"

Shaking it off, he crawled out of the field of barbed wire, and for the first time in what was an hour, he stood up. His back hurt, and his legs and hands were covered in mud and were sore to the last tendon. But the worst was possibly over. Running to the wall, he stopped just a few inches short.

Most of the men who had finished before him were still trying to get over, as the wall was, all together, more than three hundred feet tall, and the spikes used to grab onto and climb with were spread out too far.

Losing his courage, Svern fell to his knees, looking hard at the ground, his throat becoming raspy as he felt his dinner from last night leave his stomach and exit his mouth.

"Hey, no vomiting! Get your ass on that damn wall!" Prowler shouted. "Do I have to walk all the way over there and beat the shit out of you myself?!"

Svern didn't listen, as he simply stared at the orange and green puddle around him, which was beginning to get to his knees. His mouth hung open limply, his lips drenched in the bile that had recently flowed from his stomach and onto the ground.

He was snapped back into attention, though, when he felt a god hard kick right in his back, sending him flying into the wall.

"Get...the fuck..._**UP!**_" Prowler roared, grabbing Svern by his ankles and forcing him onto his two feet. "One more incident like this, and I'll make you wash Pumpkinhead's balls with your bare hands!"

That seemed to get Svern back. "Yes, sir!" he cried before he grabbed hold of two spikes and found his footing. He knew there was never going back after this.

Lifting his left foot, he placed it on another spike up to the left fourteen inches from the previous one. He tried to do the same with his right, but the spike was still too far, and he barely managed to stop himself from falling. Forced to climb with only one balanced foot, he found himself disoriented.

_I should have stayed at the barbed wire_, he thought.

_-POV change-_

The Prowler smirked underneath his cloth rag. These so-called "soldiers" were pathetic. He simply looked at their reactions when they were at the barbed wire, and realized these men would lose focus in a matter of seconds in real battle.

And now, the wall. That little shit who puked would have gotten crippled if he ever tried the U.S. Marine boot camp. Of course, they never used wolves in U.S. Military training, and the walls were never three hundred feet tall, but he wanted to make these men better than the marines. Better even than the SEALS, if that was at all possible. Men who, despite just being men, would give even Jason a run for his money.

Of course, that was still far off, seeing from the performance of these grunts, but with time and practice, it was far from impossible.

Then again, this could all be a waste of time and these men would never become the ultimate soldier, but then, he would have never suggested it. He knew it would, could, and should work.

_-POV change-_

Svern had finally climbed to the top of the wall and quickly trudged down the ladders to the other side, where most of the other soldiers were, save for a few still making their way up. Walking by, he listened intently, and was happy to hear that the other men were just as pissed off by the training, and bitterly spat and cursed The Prowler.

"I don't know about you, but I think I should give Nasuada a piece of my mind for allowing this!" Svern growled to his friend as he finally spotted him amongst the crowd.

"Nay, Svern, save it for The Prowler himself. He's the one enjoying seeing us in our current misery!" his friend hissed, clenching his hands into fists. "That bastard-if only he was human, I would be able to kill him with my bare hands! But he's a slasher-so I have no clue what tricks he has up his sleeve!"

Svern wondered what had become of Oglivy. He had been known for his over-exaggerated stories of serving in the Varden, bu that did not make him a bad man, despite his cockiness. Now, though, there was no telling how humiliated he must feel, and who knew how badly The Prowler had broken his confidence with that act in the pavilion?

"Alright, fags, here's the deal! I'll have the cages with dogs inside rolled in, and when I shout "NOW", you shits better get your asses ready, cause those dogs will come out, and they're nasty as hell! GOT THAT?" The Prowler shouted, followed by a unanimous, "YES, SIR!"

"Alright, then, you insects stay here, while I help get the cages!" he said, pushing his way through the men and knocking some over as he strode off.

Svern remembered his original training, which he had received when he had first decided to join the Varden just before The Battle of the Burning Plains. His drill instructors had never decided to harden him or anyone else, stating that war itself would do that.

That now all seemed like child's play compared to what they would have to face now, and probably in the days to come as well. How anybody here was supposed to survive training when they had to fight dogs was beyond him. It felt as if though they were being given an education by the Urgals!

_Those ugly brutes, nasty man-goats..._, he thought to himself as he imagined the Kull. He was snapped out of his thoughts by the scraping of the wheels on the rocky ground and the angry, relentless roaring of The Prowler.

"Alright, get your fat asses prepared!"

Svern grew tense instantly. He drew in his breath as he readied his fists, cracking his knuckles. He had fought off an entire group of the Laughing Dead, what would a bunch of bloodhounds do?

And then, the cages, were opened, and he saw these were not dog at all:these were fucking _wolves_. As soon as the hatches were lifted, the bloodthirsty, ferocious snarls drowned out all else, and the gray wolves sprinted out each in groups of four from their cages, their open mouths frothing with saliva, as they instantly raced towards the Varden's soldiers.

Screams of sheer terror, and very soon pain, came as the wolves bit into and knocked down the men, their claws scraping through the clothing and flesh likes knives through butter, their canine teeth ripping and tearing ruthlessly at their skin and muscles. Some men tried to fight back, only for their hands and fingers to nearly be bitten off.

Svern ran hopelessly and mindlessly in what looked to be a circle as his friend was knocked down and being clawed at rapidly by one of the wolves. He suddenly stopped as he felt a jolt of pain shoot up his entire left leg. Screaming, he looked down to see that one wolf had managed to grasp his ankle with it's fangs, before it viciously pulled him down, and let go before it started clawing at his chest, while growling and blasting saliva into his face. Forcing himself up, he managed to push the wolf off before tightening his right hand into a fist as he tried to punch the wolf in the snout. Big mistake.

It ended up anticipating his move and opened it's mouth, before biting down hard on Svern's hand, the teeth going through flesh and muscle and nearly breaking through the solid bone. Howling in pain, he grabbed the wolf's ear and tore it off of his hand before smashing it's head into the ground. Glancing at his now mangled hand, he saw that most of the palm, along with his knuckles, were horribly bleeding out and he spotted a few pieces of(now dead) skin in the mess, and a certain spot had been so horribly bitten into, he could clearly see the cracked bone.

His observations were cut short as heard the wolf roar and looked up to see it charging at him again. Managing to scratch his forehead, the animal received a kick in the gut from him before managed to stand up and run for it.

Unfortunately, be didn't manage to put much distance between himself and the wolf, as he wasn't looking and ended up bumping into a man being chased by three wolves, knocking both himself and the man down, as the wolf and the three others pounced onto the two of them. Enraged to the point he just wanted it over with, he grabbed the wolf who had been going after him the whole time with his left hand and pressed his thumb into it's eye so hard, he could feel the warm blood flowing from what remained of it's socket, before he threw it off.

Likewise, the man he had bumped into had managed to throw off the three wolves and kicked one in it's side, before grabbing another one and breaking it's right hind leg like a twig. The third wolf regained it's composure before lunging at the man. However, it's timing was off, and he dodged before picking up a stone nearly the size of his fist and began slamming it into the wolf's head, finally finishing and slamming the stone so hard, it split the wolf's skull almost completely in half and leaving the stone stuck in it's now bloody pulp of a head.

At last, the shot from The Prowler's weapon went off.

"Alright, that's it! Get these wolves back in their cages, elves, and you men, pick yourselves up and follow me to the Killbots so you can get healed. Wouldn't want anyone to come to training again tomorrow with a torn ankle, now do we?" he laughed harshly as he pointed to a nearby soldier clutching at his leg.

Svern was relieved to see that no one had died, but many were terribly wounded. One man's face was pretty badly mauled, while another soldier was bleeding horribly from his torso thanks to the claws of the wolves. He looked back at his mangled right hand, and felt the scratch on his forehead. He seemed like the luckiest.

He sighed as he turned to walk back with the other men, only to feel a hand come down on his shoulder and see another on the shoulder of the man who had been chased by the three wolves.

Svern turned to look at The Prowler, who stood at least a good foot taller than himself.

"Y-Y-Yes, sir?" he asked nervously. The last time The Prowler had talked to him, it had been with a swift kick to the back and a threat of being forced to clean the vengeance demon Pumpkinhead's balls with only his bare hands. What's more, he had embarrassed himself outright by vomiting all over the place.

"You two," he began to sternly hiss, "you two-I saw what you did to those wolves. One of them partially blinded for good, one crippled, and one having it's brains reduced to a fine sauce. I don't how or why, but you two-you have the killer's instinct within you. I can just sense it." And with that, he walked off, leaving Svern and the other man behind to follow the company.

And then he realized:the barbed wire, where he had been forced to focus on getting to the wall, and here with the wolves, he had been hardened to fight and kill with whatever was at his disposal.

The Prowler's plan was succeeding, indeed.

The ultimate soldier.

_**So, R&R, please, and remember:I really need a good cover for this story. Do that, and I'll dedicate a chapter to you in thanks. So, the next chapter will be a flashback, and after that, I'll be taking some time off to finish up my other story The Burning Of The Prowler. After that, for the chapter after the next one, it will be a Roran chapter. Once again, R&R please.**_


	12. From the pressue cooker, and into Hell

_**For four(five, if you count the preview) chapters straight, I have treated you fellow readers and fans to nothing but boring politics and dialogue. No more! Now, in this flashback chapter, we return to the brutal war, combat, and that bloodshed which made IOTS famous in the first place(at least, that's what I think...)! Many might be thinking to themselves:just how did Maniac Cop, Marty, The Captain, and the Night School killer come to Alagaësia? Was it just a deus ex machina introduced by The Lobster's Claw? I say:NO! There is a legitimate way they arrived. What is it? Why don't you quit being lazy and actually read on, for a change?!**_

**FLASHBACK**

Matt Cordell yawned as he drove forward in the police cruiser, after having to wake up at 2:30 exactly, and now driving around, talking to the forensics experts, and talking to countless suspects for the last seven hours. He didn't get it; just because he was in a bunch of movies about a murderous police officer, that did not have to mean he really had to be an officer for his "day job" when he wasn't in another movie(which had been for quite a while now). And yet, that was that, and he was stuck in his position.

_My life is one giant shitload_, he depressingly thought to himself as his partner, Officer Joe Vickers, turned towards him.

"If it'll comfort you, we're less than a mile away from the forest where we have to meet," Joe grumbled, his stone like eyes tiredly piercing into Cordell.

"You seem to stretch the word "comfort" greatly," Cordell groaned.

"Yeah, until it snaps," Vickers sarcastically yawned in reply, before turning back to the dashboard. Cordell simply groaned again, watching the nineteen posters of the missing slashers taped everywhere.

_-POV change-_

King Orrin mounted atop his gray steed, as he asked or his pouch. Receiving it, he took out his pocket telescope and lengthened it, before he put it to right eye and adjusted the lens slightly. There were no spies for this battle. They couldn't afford the risk.

Scanning the stables from two miles away, he spotted several hundred archers, ranging up to seven hundred of them, posted atop the roofs of the stables. Below, in front were at least six thousand swordsmen, all flanked by four spear-carriers each, and in front of them were at least twenty eight thousand cavalry soldiers all mounted, nearly twice their entire force. To top it off, he even spotted four soldiers carrying flails, and there was no telling how many more soldiers were inside the stables, ready to charge out should the defenders somehow fail.

Orrin sighed as he returned his telescope. "How many are there, sir?" his personal assistant and messenger Graytooth asked.

"At least six thousand swordsmen, with around twenty four thousand spear-carriers flanking them total, at least seven hundred archers atop the stables, and at least four men with flails. Who knows how many more could be waiting within the stables?" Orrin worriedly replied, his uncertain gaze returning to the meager total amount of men with him. It was just fifteen thousand, seven hundred ninety six all together. A mere militia compared to the hulking army they would have to face today.

He sighed again, placing his helmet on. "We ride!" he cried, and with that, the cavalry and infantry of the Varden and mostly Surda followed behind him as he charged forward.

_-POV change-_

"We're here," Cordell said, as he grabbed Vickers' shoulder and shook him out of his slumber.

Waking startled, Vickers grumbled in annoyance as he unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the car. He took a few seconds to pop the bones in his back, a result from two straight hours of sitting in a car, waiting to get somewhere. He followed Cordell through the shrubbery and broken up tree stumps into the heart of the huge forest, and both of the slasher policeman nearly fell and broke something due to the uneven dirt ground, which twisted and winded in zig-zagging patterns.

Cordell coughed and uneasily looked around him. It was way too quiet here for a forest. There were no birds chirping or cawing, no frogs croaking, and not even any mosquitoes or bees buzzing and zipping around. There was something going on here-something unnatural, that was not of this world, stalking around them.

"It feels weird here," he said. "Like a pressure cooker-calm for now, yet more than ready to burst if we aren't careful."

"Calm before the storm," Vickers sneered as he pushed through a wall of fallen and broken branches and sticks.

"Well, aren't you funny," he sarcastically growled, taking the blunt sheath off the blade attached to his police baton, slicing through the overgrown bushes. "Now, if you'll be kind enough, you can start helping me cut all this huge shit down."

Vickers snorted in response before pulling out his rather large kitchen knife and started cutting the debris in front of him down.

_-POV change-_

Orrin roared loudly as he struck his sword forward, him and his soldiers only a few feet from the first line of men in front of them guarding the stables.

Without warning, though, several black robed magicians slithered forward like hideous eels and, in unison, cried, "Frethya, letta!" In a near instant, sixteen men carrying black tube like objects in their hands, with one magician behind them, appeared in front of the first line of men.

_Blast it, they used magic to make them invisible!_, Orrin angrily though to himself. He hated ambushes like this-they were cowardly, and it made any good tactics he had thought of obsolete before the battle even began.

"Fall back, fall back!" he shouted loudly, but his repeated cries of those two words were drowned out while his men retreated as the magicians put their hands to the back of the tubes and suddenly, different colored flames of magic roared forward from the front holes on the tubes. One of his soldiers and his horse were unlucky enough to be swallowed by the tongues of fire, and quickly burned to death.

"By Angvard," he gasped as he saw the results. "They're using portable flames! They're using walking flames, dammit!" he cried, forcing his men to retreat further. He realized they couldn't just rush the men-it would take too many lives, and there were no possible methods of infiltration, as the informant would die before he could cause any casualties to the center of the soldiers.

The horrible truth dawned upon him-he and his army would have to retreat in full, and wait until the enemy was starved out or Eragon and Saphira could come.

It was the first time he truly began to feel doubt, and that there was no way to win.

No way.

_-POV change-_

Cutting their way out, Cordell and Vickers finally saw the three witnesses set to meet them standing directly in front of them, all three being slashers.

"You better have some good and new evidence with you to make our trip to and through this living hell of a forest worthwhile, Rantzen," Cordell snarled as he walked up to the jester mask wearing, jacket wearing slasher named Marty Rantzen. Rantzen laughed in response as he stepped up to the officer.

"Yeah, we found something. Pretty sure your boys at the forensics were too nit-picky with their nonexistent fingerprints and fake hair to see it though ," Marty rasped.

"Now listen, Rantzen, I dragged my ass here to see what you found that you didn't want revealed publicly, not hear my department get shitted on by some half burnt, grade-A nerd like you. If I could, I'd wipe that retarded grin from your _stupid _mask-" Cordell began to growl, but was stopped by Joe, who placed his hand on his shoulder.

"We're not here to start another war," he whispered in a hissing tone, before turning to look at Marty. "Alright, Rantzen, what do you have that can help us find out what happened to these nineteen of our kind?"

Marty turned to the killer at the Night School. "If you will take it out..." he said in an asking manner, as the killer nodded and pulled out a Ziploc bag from his left pocket, and gave it over to Marty. The bag contained something which looked like large, solid chunks of cocaine, expect, it looked more crystalline and was bright yellow.

"Well just what the hell is that?!" Cordell demanded, his temper rising.

"It's pure sulfur," Marty answered. "It looks like this in it's native form, yellow and crystalline."

"And this is supposed to be helpful _how?_" Vickers asked derisively.

"You know what kind of creature leaves behind sulfur after such an ordeal? Let me give you a hint:it's not any slasher, or a demon," The Captain said in reply.

Cordell's mind flashed back to fifteen years ago. The war had started, and he was reading some newspaper in his office, sitting in his black leather chair. He had heard the screams of several other officers, before seeing the blood splatter onto the tinted window on his door. He heard and saw the bangs and bursts of heavy gunfire and the clatter of dropping rounds. Suddenly, the gunfire stopped, an officer's head hit his window and a bright flash preceded an explosion, which rocked the entire station and caused the lamp on his desk to drop and break.

Taking out his Calico M950 and Smith & Wesson Model 15, Cordell opened his door and walked out into the hall, and was instantly hit in the face with the stench of rotting eggs. He looked down at the bodies, and saw the yellow substance on their corpses.

Sulfur.

"Oh, shit..." Cordell gasped.

"What is it?" The Captain asked.

The memory kept going, and as he walked further down the hall, he heard a hideous, snickering laughter behind him. Turning around, he saw the Djinn before him, his face spread in a hideous grin, displaying his gray teeth and his dark brown lips.

Not even giving the sadistic bastard a chance to speak, he unloaded both his guns into the Djinn's chest, knocking him back and throwing him off his feet. His grin fading, the Djinn snarled as the bullets fell out and his wounds healed and closed themselves shut.

"You cannot kill that which is eternal, Cordell," the Djiin hissed as he walked forward. However, his grin returned, and he laughed once more. "However, you are the only one here to put up a good fight, and so I shall spare your life, _Maniac Cop_-for now, that is." And with that, the Djinn vanished in a flash of white light and a burst of black smoke, his maniacal, blood-curdling laughter echoing through the station, leaving only Cordell and the sulfur covered bodies.

"Cordell?" Vickers asked uncertainly.

"_It's the damn Djinn!" _Cordell cried as he whipped out his Model 15.

_-POV change-_

Orrin focused on the men carrying the tubes and the magicians behind them, realizing that a direct physical assault would be useless. Seeing as how they were protected only in front, he gave the order to the Surdan and few Varden archers with them to fire their arrows on the sixteen men and the magicians behind them.

It was in vain, though, as all of the arrows either bounced off the wards, or were repelled in mid-air by the magicians and thrown away. However, it was a mixed blessing, as despite the arrows missing their targets, many of them wounded and killed scores of soldiers behind the sixteen men and magicians.

He then thought of something new-they would incapacitate and slay the soldiers behind the men and magicians, so as to both lessen the amount of men they would have to face in battle and leave possibly only the sixteen, so it could be a bit less costly, and lower their courage.

"Light the arrows on fire! Then, focus on the men and fire!" he cried, and the archers did just that, setting ablaze the tar tipped arrows and focusing only on the men behind the magicians. Three of the four men carrying flails were quickly blown to pieces by the explosions after being directly hit, while several of the archers on the roofs were also killed, causing huge portions of the roofs to cave in and crush both the men and horses within. Several magicians were even caught in the twisting flames, though the others quickly put them out, but their wounds were serious:one man was completely burnt to a crisp on the entire left half of his body, while another mage's head was ignited.

"Go on, keep firing at them!" Orrin shouted as the flames died out, resulting in a bloody stalemate:while the Empire certainly had more and much worse casualties, the Empire still had superior numbers and weapons, and neither side dared to make a move towards each other.

Orrin took his telescope back out and looked through it again-he counted the Imperial troops once more, and saw that, of the swordsmen and spear-carriers guarding their flanks, only around twenty thousand total remained, and of the cavalry, twenty four thousand had survived. They were still outnumbered, and there was no way to stop the men with tubes.

Little did Orrin know, help was about to come, but it wasn't going to be anything of this world.

_-POV change-_

"Ah, yes, I hear someone has called me from my slumber," a sickly voice called out, as both Cordell and Vickers spun around to face the sadistic monstrosity known as the Djinn.

"Stop right there!" Vickers growled through clenched teeth. "Don't do a thing, or else I'll blow your brains everywhere, Djinn!"

The Djinn simply smirked as he pointed at the muzzle of Vickers' handgun and made it split in half, reducing it to a mere piece of scrap metal. "I don't see that happening, Joe. You cannot kill that which is eternal."

"Oh, shove it!" Cordell cried as he fired a round into the Djinn's head, causing him to shriek in pain, only for his wound to heal within the span of a second.

"You," the Djinn hissed. "I remember you, Cordell-I hope you remember as well. I said I would spare your life that one time, and sadly enough for you, it was only that one time."

"Spare me the revenge bullshit. What are you doing here, and what did you do to those nineteen slashers?" Cordell demanded.

The Djinn laughed, a sickly and terrible sound that racked everyone's nerves. "I had found another land, far from our own. In that realm, there was the prison my fellow race of djinn were held in, and I constructed my plan to destroy that prison and free my people, and so we could take over not only this realm, but that realm as well, along with possibly others."

"Bullshit," Marty said. "You can only free your djinn if you grant three wishes to the person who released you, and you can't use any powers at all unless somebody wishes for something from you."

"No longer! I came across three particularly malevolent and ruthless members of a supernatural race known only as Spirits. They taught me dark secrets of magical power and capacity, and once they outlived their usefulness, they tried to possess me and make me become some creature called a Shade, but I was too quick. I feasted on them, and I finally reached my full potential as a djinn, no longer bound by such proposed limits as you speak." He then laughed. "As for those slashers-I tried to open a portal to the realm so I could go in and free my kind, yet those pathetic _slashers _came in both times and were taken in instead."

"Ah, but now, you shall not hinder me, and you slashers shall meet the same fate as all else-the djinn shall replace you. So go, bide what precious little time you have left, and simply pray that the other djinn will leave your body behind when they kill you."

"Not happening," Cordell spat, before he fired two more bullets into the Djinn's head. "Now, Joe! Stun him!"

Vickers nodded as he pulled out his close-contact stun gun, before charging forward while the Djinn began to heal. He was too slow, though, and the Djinn forced his stun gun to turn and made Vickers shock himself. Despite being a slasher, Vickers still felt it all, and he fell to the ground as he twitched and moaned.

"I will have all of your blood for that, slashers! Especially yours, Maniac Cop!" the Djinn roared.

Then, an idea came to The Captain-the Djinn was still a djinn, and so he would still have to follow wishes.

"I wish that you were imprisoned inside a jewel, and the only way to get out would be for somebody to rub that jewel!" The Captain cried, as everything went quiet, and the Djinn's face turned to a pale expression of horror and rage combined.

"No," he breathed, shaking his head. "NO! No, you son of a b-"

Vickers had already gotten back to his senses, and he pulled out his stun gun from himself as he backed away from the Djinn, who was starting to shine a bright white light.

"I curse you! I curse you to Hell!" the Djinn screamed, even as his flesh began to burn away.

"Matt, let's get out of here! This place is about to blow!" Vickers yelled.

"Joe, come on, get to the car! I need to get these witnesses out of h-!" Cordell said in reply, but was drowned out by the disgusting shriek of the Djiin, as he was reduced to a mere skeletal outline in the growing light. The sign that he was going back to the jewel.

And with that, the light exploded outward, Vickers being knocked to the ground and falling unconscious instantly as the entire forest was quickly being incinerated.

Cordell felt as if though his skin was turning inside-out, and he uttered one final cry before he and the three witnesses were vanished from that realm.

_-POV change-_

The Imperial soldiers were packed inside the horse stable, which was meant for at least six chargers. It was not necessarily meant for the thirty four of the men, who had complained of the cramped conditions and all of the uncleaned horse crap on the floor.

One of them sniffed, and he cringed. "Do any of the rest of you smell that?" he asked.

"It's just the turds beneath us, don't let it get to you," one of his comrades suggested in an attempt to comfort him.

"No, no, it smells like charred oak, and burning hair!" the soldier said, as he covered his nose with his sleeve.

"Yes, I smell it as well," another man hissed as he spat in disgust.

Suddenly, the air began to hum and buzz, and the soldier who had first pointed out the smell stared down at the blue light beneath him, which was rising to his knees. He tried to scream as he felt his legs burning to ash, but was put out of his misery as the blue light expanded and burst forth, disintegrating him and twelve other soldiers. Another soldier was not actually caught in the blast, but was so close the heat melted all his flesh, hair, armor, and clothing off. He fell screaming to the ground, and within just seconds, was already dead.

The twenty surviving soldiers looked at the center of the blast, and glared at the four men who had just suddenly appeared, and presumed they were the ones who had killed their friends. They rushed forward, swords brandished, their spears barbed and sharpened enough to puncture flesh and muscle.

Five men fell to the ground, clawing at their faces, as Marty's nitric acid was thrown onto them. It was in vain, however, as the acid quickly began eating at their fingers as well, and soon they were bleeding to death as the flesh on their heads and fingers was burnt and melted.

One man tried to sneak up on Marty and attempted to cleave him from head to groin, but the slasher was too quick and promptly smashed him in the face with his baseball bat, caving in the front of his skull.

Three men managed to gang up on Matt and succeeded so far as to push him to the ground. That was as far as they got, though, as Matt Cordell shoved them away and unsheathed his blade-police baton and stabbed it into one of soldier's groin, before leaping back up and slitting one of their stomachs open, reaching in and literally tearing the guts out. In rapid succession, he grabbed one of the fallen soldiers' spears and slammed it into the third soldier's right foot, impaling him into the ground. He screamed as he clutched at his leg, tying to tear the spear out, but only increased the pain as he realized it was barbed. He screamed again, before Cordell's blade-baton dived into his throat, ending his misery. Whipping out his Model 15, he riddled two other soldiers with bullets at point-blank range, cutting them to pieces.

The soldiers simply looked at The Captain and saw that, while he was completely invisible, his weapon was not at all, defying every rule of magic in the world they knew. Their courage finally broken, they tried to pry open the stable doors and escape, but The Captain would have none of it. Taking his axe, he grabbed a man by the shoulder and swung his axe between his head and axe, the flesh and muscle being pushed out as the man's head began to roll ten feet from his body, before his blood gushed from the stump and onto his comrades.

Switching to a relatively small butcher's axe, he swung it deep into a nearby stomach and began to twist it around, carving out large chunks of muscle and flesh. He then kicked the man down and let him bleed to death, before finally taking to his regular knife. He impaled one soldier on it before tearing it out and slitting the chest of another.

Walking over, the killer from the Night School swung his curved machete, which was more like an oversized gurkha knife, and instantly decapitated four soldiers. The only remaining Imperial dropped his sword and flung off his shield. He fell to his knees.

"I surrender!" he cried pathetically. "Please, spare me! I harmed you not! Don't kill me!"

The killer's response was to grab the soldier's helmet and lift him off his feet, allowing him to look into the visor of his motorcycle helmet. All he could see was his reflection.

"He will kill you," Marty assured. "He always does. He especially will not let _you_ live."

The soldier's face increased with terror as he looked into the killer's helmet. There was nothing human about it-no face, no emotion, no mercy, just sleek blackness.

"He won't strangle you. He wants to hear your final screams. He won't gouge out your eyes. He wants you to see your reflection one final time."

The soldier saw the killer raise his machete, and, not heeding Marty, simply screamed in horror as his head was hacked off. His body fell while his head remained grasped by the helmet in the killer's hand, which he threw against the wall.

"Where do you think we are?" Cordell asked as he cleaned off his blade-baton.

"By the looks of it all, I'd say in a land that looks early Middle Ages. The primitive weapons, armor-and the horse shit I just stepped in," Marty answered, adding a sneer to the last part as he walked on a pile of turds.

They all heard the cries and muttering of multiple people outside, followed by what sounded like the stomping of boots.

"There must be more of them, and they heard. If anything we gotta kill our way out of here," The Captain snarled as he took out his scythe and axe, wielding both at once.

"The Djinn cursed us to Hell," Cordell muttered. "This doesn't look like Hell, though-more like practice."

Backing up against the portions of the walls closest to the doors, they waited to ambush their attackers as they heard heavy shouting before the men slammed against the doors. A spear even sliced through, but it did little damage, save for making a sizable slit.

"Get ready," The Captain grumbled.

As if on cue, the doors were flung open, and the large board of wood holding it shut was torn in two. A good deal of the soldiers blanched and vomited at the sight of their thirty four fallen comrades and just how disgustingly they were slaughtered. The Sergeant who had been leading even stopped and held back the urge to lose his meager breakfast.

Around two dozen men cautiously walked in, leaving seven behind just in case. As soon as they were far in, the four slashers slammed the doors shut quickly. Cordell fired off rounds from both his Model 15 and M950, cutting down ten men and, of those ten, blew four of their heads up, splattering their pink and red brain matter over their comrades.

Marty tore out his javelin and hurled it, impaling a man onto a wall with a deadly velocity. One of his friends tried to pull it out, only to feel the skin on the back of his head and neck began to burn and melt, and he collapsed screaming and and scratching as the nitric acid made him begin to bleed to death. Marty swung out his bat and smashed it into one soldier's groin repeatedly, until he was quickly sure the man would soon die from the pain.

The Sergeant saw the floating weapons and thrust his sword forward, being dumbstruck as the scythe came down and separated the blade from the hilt. It then swung with precision and tore his lower torso open. The Captain put back his axe as he picked up the blade and swung it in a circle, cutting three men vertically in half before he threw it into a man's face, pinning his corpse to the wall.

The killer took his machete and went straight and simple:he hacked the heads of the six remaining clean off. There wasn't much spectacle to it, but then again, the killer wasn't known for his brutality and theatrics.

Tearing the doors clean off their hinges, Cordell aimed his M950 and Model 15, and before he could pull the triggers, the seven remaining soldiers fled.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" Cordell growled as he kicked the locked door in front of him away, making it send sparks as it flew through and sliced a man in half just before it crushed another.

Running through the hall, the four slashers turned and went up the rotting stairs. A guard was waiting, but he was way too slow as the killer hacked his head off.

Hearing the chatter of three men, the four took quick cover behind a gray wall.

"The Surdans will have to retreat soon if they don't take out those men and their magicians," one of them laughed, clattering his sword against his shield.

"Nay, they'll probably still win, no matter what Galbatorix sends," another sighed.

"What, you want to get executed by the king himself?!" a third man, this one with a remarkably more hoarse voice, spat. "You're a rebel sympathizer and therefore scum, you are!"

Making sure to time it just right, Cordell leaped out and fired his M950 at the chain holding the chandelier in place, which the men were standing underneath. He fired, and watched in satisfaction as it came crashing down. Two of the men were crushed to death instantly, while the third was immolated by the huge amount of candles on the chandelier, and he couldn't even run as he screamed in pain, his back having been broken completely.

"Chandeliers in a farm house-these bastards have a flare for style, I must say," Marty laughed.

"Let's keep moving," Cordell said as they headed for the next door to their left several feet away.

Checking to see if anybody was guarding at the door, Cordell knocked. It was flung open.

"What, who is-?" the guard angrily asked, only to get ran through with the blade-baton. He clutched at his openly bleeding wound and gurgled before crumpling. Cordell kicked the body away.

The sheer size of the army before them was almost too much to take in. Thousands of men mounted on their horses, almost as many spear-carriers, and hundreds upon hundreds of swordsmen. One man was even carrying a three foot long flail. An army unconquerable.

The slashers' response was to go right ahead into the mass of hapless victims.

Marty tossed three quarts of acid into the crowd, showering their eyes, faces, chests, and throats. He spun his javelin in the air, slicing and dicing the faces of several men, before triply impaling three more.

Cordell slashed, stabbed, and skewered a few soldiers in quick succession before taking out his Calico M950. The man with the flail roared, swinging his spiked chain weapon in a circular motion. Unfortunately for him, he never fought against semi-automatic guns, and fell dead in a second with a well placed shot between his eyes.

He spotted two men mounted atop a mound of hay, one pointing a large, log shaped black object. The other man took a spherical black object with a small rope pinned to the top. He shoved it into the back of the log shaped object while the man carrying it pulled what looked like an obvious trigger, and after a few seconds, the ball came zooming back out, the rope now getting smaller as a spark moved down it.

A grenade launcher.

"Shit," Cordell gasped before he sprinted away, leaving the bomb to explode and instead take several more Imperials. Another two men fired another bomb, but luckily enough, the killer kicked it back, letting it explode in the Imperial's faces.

Twangs were heard as the remaining archers atop the stables fired, but all missed, instead wounding and killing their own comrades, or just not getting their four quick moving targets or their own men.

A spear-carrier thrust his spear desperately at Cordell's stomach, only for him to dodge to the right and grab the spear between his fingers. He pulled it out of the soldier's hand before snapping it in two and delivered a punch to his face, sending the man flying.

A black robed man with a yellow twisting flame stitched into his tunic came forward then and flung a green ball of flame right at him. Cordell ducked, but the heat scorched the top of his police hat and left him briefly dazed.

_How the hell did he do __**that?!**_, he angrily thought to himself, while the man opened his hand and showed his palm before he fired what looked like miniature lightning. Cordell dodged and watched as an Imperial was fried to a mere charred black mummy of his former self by the bolt.

"You are quite amazing," the man hissed with a smile. "I shall take you, and you will make a most invaluable asset to my king. He will reward me to no end for it."

Deciding to go silent and deadly rather than make some crass comeback, Cordell fired exactly four rounds into the disgusting slob. One of them stopped in mid-air and dropped as the man shouted, "Letta!" The other three, however, found their mark and tore the man's head to shreds.

_-POV change-_

Orrin watched in confusion as he heard what seemed like fiery bangs erupt in the Empire's own ranks, and the screams of men dying. He sent no espionage units, that was for sure, and the number of Imperials dropping like flies all around was almost too quick and too good to be true. Taking out his telescope again, he looked through the lens and was both amazed and horrified by what he saw.

Three oddly dressed men, the fourth simply being a floating weapon, cut their way through the Empire's soldiers without care or hesitation, while not getting harmed in the slightest. Every time they struck, it was a perfect instant kill that destroyed flesh and shattered armor. There were no wounded.

Putting away his telescope, he saw several of the men and their magicians with the flame spewing tubes turn and move through the crowd, obviously to deal with this new threat, while those who remained behind watched their comrades leave. That was as much as Orrin needed.

"CHARGE!" he screamed, and he spurred forward his charger as he thrust out his sword, his cavalry and infantry realizing and following behind as the men turned around to see the commotion. It was not quick enough, as the Surdans and Varden stampeded through the Imperials and cut down the tube carrying men and pushed viciously against the soldiers who had not turned tail and tried in vain to confront the four men.

"Off with their heads! Let us make corpses of these bloody cowards!" he shouted both to his men and at the Imperials.

_-POV change-_

Cordell fired the M950 into the right of the man's chest, tearing a three inch hole and destroying most of the arteries in the area. To his surprise and anger, the man simply groaned and stumbled before regaining his composure and continued to shuffle towards him, ignoring the blood gushing from his obviously fatal wound. He pulled the trigger again, but nothing came out.

He was out of ammo.

Cursing, he reached for the cartridge of ammo tucked into his belt, but was distracted by a second soldier leaping towards him, who screamed his hate at him for apparently killing his brother a few feet away.

Putting away the gun, he took out and unsheathed his blade-baton and dashed forward, cutting the screaming soldier's stomach open in a single diving stroke before streaking to the man he had shot, who had not yet died. Capping his blade-baton, he grabbed the man by his throat and raised him off his feet, pressing hard on the back of his neck before he heard that satisfying snap. He tossed the man away.

He turned to the horde of red-clad soldiers before him. "Alright, who wants it next?" he growled, lowering his voice to a gravelly tone. The men grew pale and parted, leaving only a man carrying a rusty black tube with a black robed man behind him.

Cordell aimed his Model 15 directly at the open hole in the tube, thinking it was a very primitive cannon and that by shooting the gunpowder, he would ignite two men before they even knew what had just happened.

The black robed man opened his mouth and mumbled something incomprehensible, the purpose of which Cordell learned to his horror when he heard his gun click, signifying that it was jammed.

Cursing his luck, Cordell shoved away his gun and opted instead for his baton, and ran forward. Without further warning, a cry erupted just before another one of those soldiers intercepted him, spear at ready. Annoyed, Cordell _should _have been thankful because of what happened next.

A stream of orange flames sprang from the front opening in the tube, licking the air as it grew wider and closer. Stunned, Cordell grabbed the soldier by his shoulder before flipping him around, and he sprinted off. It was quick thinking, as just a second after Cordell had left the radius, the flames rolled over the soldier. He screamed for just two seconds before Cordell saw his flaming corpse hit the ground, all features near instantly being incinerated from existence.

He unsheathed his blade-baton and charged forward, gutting the man carrying the tube and the man with his hand to it like fish, the bone crunching and flesh and muscle ripping open.

He took out his Model 15 and aimed at two more of the same tube carriers, blowing their heads clean off with a single shot each. He would have done the same for the next pair, but Marty's acid hit them in time.

He saw, from the corner of his left eye, several men trampling through a thick puddle. He knew his Model 15 would run out of ammo soon and he wouldn't have enough time to reload, and there were too many men. Furthermore, he could probably kill a few men with his blade-baton, but with the sheer number of opponents, just one would be enough to stab him in the back.

He had only one option left.

Whipping out his taser, he aimed the red dot at the puddle, and pulled the trigger.

When a taser fired, it shot a thin string tipped with with four metallic prongs capable of penetrating flesh and clothing, allowing it to conduct large, yet nonlethal, volts of electricity. But electricity combined with metal and water was more than deadly.

The eighteen men in the puddle learned that the hard and extremely painful way. They saw the red dot reflected in the water, and thought it was a sign of some kind of magic. They believed it was explosive, and began to retreat, thinking they would survive so long as they were not in the explosion. What they found instead was their nerves feeling overloaded as the rest of their body became racked with unimaginable, thought destroying pain, their flesh getting charred as the hum of electricity grew to the point it filled their ears, making it the last thing they all heard.

Cordell outdid himself there and then as he smirked, seeing the electricity grow so powerful that the eyes of the eighteen men shriveled up and fell out. The grilled bodies fell as smoke arose, the water in the puddle literally boiling.

The army of red robed men dispersed after the sight of such a deadly and unfathomable weapon in use, the men shouting words and thoughts of retreat. Within the next three minutes, all of the men had dropped their weapons and shields and the army was in full retreat.

_-POV change-_

"They're retreating! By Angvard, they are all retreating!" Orrin cried, the cheers of the Surdans and Varden nearly blocking out his voice.

He tried to express his joy of victory further, but this time, he was truly interrupted by the flashes and bangs of something, for lack of a better word, _otherworldly_. It was like a small explosion of fire, yet there were no flames, nothing to follow except another scream and another collapsing body.

The Surdan joy was short lived, quite literally in one case. Another bang erupted, and this time, it was a Surdan archer who fell, clutching the smoking hole torn into his chest. His lips and closed eyes twitched for several more short seconds before he grew still, and his flesh turned pale. Blood pooled from both his mouth and, to an even greater extent, the wound in his chest. Combined with it was the glint of a partially scorched metal.

"Who-?" Orrin began to ask, his head quickly turning from left to right in desperation for an answer, when another bang came, and something struck his left hand. _Hard_.

He fell from his horse, clutching at the smoldering hole, and he screamed. He had been stabbed, shot with arrows, and broken his fair share of bones, but that was all child's play compared to this. It was as if though solid fire had ripped into him, incinerating every muscle, nerve, and even bone it touched. His pulse shot up at an alarming rate, feeling as if though it had just tore through a physical barrier. His breathing increased tenfold, and not even the clutching of the wound stopped the bleeding.

"Don't just stand there, go fetch a healer this instant!" Graytooth yelled, and Orrin heard the stamping of several sprinting feet on the ground. He opened his eyes and saw Garytooth and several other soldiers standing over him.

"How does it feel, my King?" Graytooth worriedly asked.

"Like fire-ripping through..." he moaned.

"Do not worry, we are getting a healer right now. We will find the men who did this, and we shall subdue them," the messenger replied.

"Please, hurry," Orrin whimpered.

"Where is that healer?! Get him over here RIGHT NOW!"

_-POV change-_

Cordell reloaded. He wasn't sure if these brown robed and armored men would be just as hostile to them, but he certainly wasn't a man to take any chances. The targets in front of him were all running and shouting about frantically. Well, that wouldn't do them any good. Cordell never missed his target.

"Slytha."

All it took was that one strange word, and Cordell instantly hit the ground. His eyes reopened as soon as he hit, and his pupils shifted frantically as his vision blurred. His muscles went slack as his vision faded with the closing of his eyes, and with that, Matt Cordell was pushed into a deep, unnatural sleep.

**END OF FLASHBACK**

The memory ended as Eragon withdrew slowly from both Orrin and Cordell's minds. The sheer amount of information was overwhelming to him.

"So, what happened after the four of you woke up from the spell?" he asked Cordell.

"Well, what usually happens. Name, Rank, and Serial Number."

"Excuse me?" Eragon asked, raising an eyebrow.

"When you get interrogated, you just say your name, what rank you have, and what your given serial number is, that is, if you have one. I just had the name and rank, Police Officer, and the other three-well, they just names, except for the Nigh School killer. He always keeps himself shut up," Cordell explained.

"We tried using magic, but they were all too strong willed, and after that, all they said was that they were not of this land, and they thought we were with the Imperials. We explained our strive to end Galbatorix's reign, but they revealed no information of themselves until now," Orrin said.

Eragon then suddenly realized something from Cordell's memories-if the Djinn were imprisoned in their realm, possibly even within Alagaësia itself, then Galbatorix was the least of their problems.

"Officer Cordell-how powerful was this lone Djinn when he could only use it to grant wishes?" he asked.

"When somebody wished for something, he could basically match a god when it came to using his power-stronger than Freddy, and perhaps even Pinhead himself. Now that he doesn't even need a wish to use his power, well..."

"Well, what?" Orrin asked uneasily.

"Well, he could tear the earth in half and snuff out the stars out of existence just with a few hand motions."

"What?! We must tell Nasuada and Arya and everyone else about these evil creatures-" Eragon began to exclaim. However, Cordell quickly cut him off.

"No! There could easily be an Imperial spy amongst your ranks, and if word gets out to this Galbatorix, then he might just want to find the prison and exploit it for his own greedy needs. It remains a secret until we defeat Galbatorix and his Empire. Understood?"

Begrudgingly, both Orrin and Eragon agreed, swearing in the Ancient Language, saying they would not tell anyone until they had defeated Galbatorix.

"Good. Now, let's get the hell out of this little cot, and get our asses to sleep. I personally need some rest after getting my mind torn into by a teenager," Cordell grumbled.

_**And that is all. Phew! Sorry this one took so long, but school has really taken a toll on me. That, and I am also struggling with another one of my stories. Hopefully, the next chapter will be out much sooner. And please, all of you reading this, R&R! I don't want to sound forceful, but when people read and favorite and follow and don't even bother to give me their thoughts, well, I personally find it a bit insulting. Oh, and I need a good cover for this story! Until next time, see you for now.**_


	13. Chapter 12:Thievery in the night

_**Not much I can really say about this chapter, except that, true to my word, I have finished the sixth chapter of The Burning Of The Prowler and am now doing this chapter, which is about Roran and The Miner's journey to Aroughs. Will be shorter than previous chapters.**_

Roran cursed as he hear the stick crack underneath The Miner's heavy boot. He grimaced as he turned around to face the slasher.

"Oi! Of all times you decide to walk in those boots near a stable, it is night!" he growled. "And stop breathing so loudly! A damn worm could hear your raspy voice!"

"Sorry, sorry," The Miner frustratedly replied. "But I can't do anything about it. It's my mask."

"Well then take it off!" Roran hissed.

"But then that would spoil my whole movie before you even see it!"

"As if though any of us will even watch your "movie"," Baldor sneered.

Roran pulled Carn forward so as to ask him something in private. "Can you not cast some spell to make him shut up? Or at the very least, decrease the strength of his breathing?" he asked.

Carn shook his head. "I don't know of any such spell, though I am sure Eragon or the elves could pull if off."

"We do not have Eragon or the elves!"

"Then you are out of luck, Roran," Carn said before freeing himself from Roran's grasp and walking away.

The seven men suddenly ducked behind the orchard wall as they heard heavy footsteps coupled with the loud sniffs and growls of what appeared to be multiple hunting dogs. No doubt, it was the manor's nightly guards patrolling and somebody had overheard their footsteps.

"Does this magician know how to make us invisible?" The Miner asked. It was still quite loud.

"Well, do you?" Roran whispered to Carn.

"Yes, yes, just give me the time to get the words right!"

One of the guards shouted, "Over there! I can hear the voices over there!" as the dogs began barking frantically.

"We don't have much time!" Mandel said through gritted teeth.

The guards began running closer and closer as the dogs began to sound more vicious with each bark. At the last second, Carn's mouth stopped moving and all seven of them vanished from sight. The guards finally came around to the end of the orchard wall and looked around, completely puzzled.

"I-I honestly think I heard voices here!" one of the guards stammered.

"You think too much, Calel," another guard mockingly said in reply. "Come on, then, we have nothing to see here."

"Then why do the damn dogs keep barking?!" a third guard growled as he tugged at the leashes to get the animals to quiet down.

Alarmed that the guards were not yet convinced and were actually coming further, Roran began to unlatch his hammer, preparing for a long and bloody fight, when the men suddenly fell to the ground, apparently unconscious. Their dogs began to whimper, and within seconds, they too dropped to the ground in a catatonic state.

"Come on, hurry, let's go!" Carn hissed. Roran and the five other men needed no more words as they ran out from the orchard wall and directly to the barn house, setting their minds back to why they were stopping tonight in Feinster anyways:they needed new horses. After the Varden's fresh supply of them had been deliberately cut off at the gates of Feinster, thievery was the only thing left to resort to.

"We're almost there. I just need to knock down the lock on that door.." Roran began to elaborate, his plans failing to continue as he felt a familiar crack against his legs. A whip had hit him.

Trying his hardest to scream, he fell to his knees, cursing both himself for not trying to flush out any threats earlier and Carn for ending the invisibility spell. He bit into his tongue, tasting the blood, as he slowly turned his head.

"So, you think you can come sneaking onto my master's estate, and trying to steal from him? You think that just because the Varden are here, you can loot as much as you want without penalty? Well, let me tell you something, _rebel_-my master is a friend of Galbatorix. At least, the closest thing he has to a friend. And once I turn you in, he will have you begging so much for mercy, he will leave you to die from all the fluid lost from your crying! H-"

In a blur of motion almost impossible for the others to see, The Miner hurled his pickaxe at breakneck speeds(breaking the sound barrier) and watched as it tore through the servant's stomach and proceeded to protrude from his back. The servant's mouth moved a little while longer, but no sound came out, just blood as he sank to his knees and hit the ground face first. To The Miner himself though, being a slasher, the pickaxe went incredibly slow.

Running over to the body, he tore the pickaxe out with a sickening _squish_. He rushed to the lock and, with one swing, tore it to shreds with a not-very-subtle _CLLLAAANNNG_.

"Must you continue to make so much noise?!" Delwin asked contemptuously.

"And why did you kill that man?" Roran angrily said.

"I'm sorry, but if I was about to be captured and whipped to death, I don't care about people's trust!" The Miner cried as he pushed open the door. "Besides, it means no witnesses."

The seven men hurried into the stable and destroyed the restraints keeping the horses chained to the wall, before shoving them out. Already, they heard the cries and barking of more guards and dogs.

"Let's get on these horses and get our asses out of here!" Roran commanded. They promptly climbed onto the backs of the steeds with dangerous haste, as they heard one guard yell, "These three are unconscious!"

_They're too close_, Roran thought.

Grabbing onto the horses necks tightly, they forced the steeds to ride out out, away from the estate and out of Feinster, to Aroughs, their final stop and destiantion.

_**This was more of a buildup chapter honestly. The next one should be out in at least three weeks, maybe more now that finals are coming up. Please R&R-I don't care if you are signed in or an anon, if it's praise or a flame. Please, just R&R. As for the next chapter, we'll finally get to see an old face, one who didn't show up for a while. First person to guess right gets a special mention in the next chapter and a cookie. :)**_


	14. Chapter 13:The Vektøs Guard

_**Wow, you guys are no fun. You don't even guess which old characters(s) I'm revisiting. Oh, well. Chapter 13.**_

The Vektøs Guard.

They were second to none in the Empire's military, the absolute best of the best. Their minds had been so brutally assaulted during their training, not even a Rider could break past their mental barriers, and even Galbatorix's eldunarí had to put immense effort into getting into their minds. They had all seen the worst of the war so far, so much so that they didn't any spells for their nervous system to become so grotesquely adapted to pain and hardship. Their skills in hand to hand combat alone were unmatched, with just one of them being able to slaughter a small group of Kull in a short time, no magic needed.

Nobody knew of their existence, though, save for Galbatorix and most of the high ranking Generals, Commanders, and magicians. Such a secret could not be leaked out to any of the Varden or their allies. Therefore, even the Commanders and Generals could not say a word about them at combat zones and camping outposts. If it was found out that they did, their was no punishment besides death.

Four men of the Vektøs Guard stood before the slasher Dabre in Galbatorix's throne room. The Mad King himself sat on his throne, sipping a goblet of wine. He made eye contact with the slasher.

"Remember, you four," he began to say, "lethal force is not authorized in this skirmish. It is simply to test Dabre." He smiled to himself. _Lethal force is not authorized-for you_, he thought to himself. "Now, fight!"

Two of the men, who were of equal height, took point to the left of Dabre, while the other two were to his right. Neither he nor they were to use any weapons in this skirmish-only their bare hands, cunning, and intellect.

He lifted his head and analyzed the four men-the two to his left were both seven-foot-five. The other two were six-foot-eight and exactly eight feet, respectively. He was only six-foot-two. It was hardly a fair fight, but then, a fight didn't need to be fair to be won.

His first priority was the eight foot tall man. Dabre ran up to him before he could even blink and jumped up high before grabbing him by the lower torso and twisted him down. Bringing his fist down on the man's face, he shattered his skull with a loud _crunch_. Feeling a hand grab his left ankle, he almost instantly spun around to face the six-foot-eight tall man, loosening his grip. He opened his hand before bringing the fingers together and karate chopped the man in the throat. He was sent flying into the wall, and then landed on the ground, where he twitched for a few more seconds before falling still.

Facing the two remaining men, they charged-slowly. In a blur of motion he grabbed the leftmost man and snapped his neck while holding the rightmost man by his head. Pulling back his hand, he karate chopped the rightmost man in the throat while retaining his iron grip, letting him die standing. Finally, Dabre let go, and watched him crumple to the ground. He heard clapping behind him.

Turning, he saw Galbatorix grinning as he chuckled. "Most impressive. No man has ever been able to stand up to the Vektøs Guard and actually win. The fact that you sustained no injuries speaks volumes indeed. _Most impressive_. But, can you take on a magician almost experienced as myself? I am sure you slashers have no understanding of such a power."

Dabre snorted. "Give me all of you soldiers, all of your tacticians and spellcasters, Galbatorix-I will kill them all."

The king raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I shall be the judge of that. Bring them in!"

Two men garbed in a black tunic were pushed in through the chamber door, a twisting yellow flame stitched into their clothing. The moment they made eye contact with the slasher and smiled ever so smugly, he knew this would not be a hard fight.

He analyzed their bodies. They were both taller than him, but were thin to an almost unhealthy degree. Their arms were small and short, indicating that they never gave exercise so much as a thought. Their legs were of the same quality, and it seemed that if they ran, they would fall over and break like a twig.

At the same time, they began uttering something inaudible to him. It was a spell of course, and the only way he would survive this one was if he made them think he had lost.

Clutching at his chest, Dabre screamed out loudly before toppling to the side. He twitched and scrambled for several more seconds before lying still, shutting his eyes.

"_**NO!**_" Galbatorix roared. "What did you idiots do? You weren't supposed to kill him! He was my only damn chance!"

"Sir, we didn't do anything-" one of the magicians squeaked, but Galbatorix would have none of it.

"Oh, really?! Then why is he dead on the ground from a heart attack! Please, explain to me-_**WHY**_?!"

"We don't know, sir-we-we'll check!"

"You better, or else I will carve out your lungs and show them to your families before publicly burning them alive! _**NOW DO IT**_!"

The two magicians ran over to Dabre's "corpse", one of them feeling his neck while the other reached into his mind. However, he ran right into a solid wall of mental defense, and the other looked up.

"Sir, he still has a p-"

At that point, Dabre's eyes flashed open. He grabbed the man who had felt his pulse and twisted his head perfectly one hundred eighty degrees around, before punching the second magician four times in the throat, shattering his windpipe.

He turned to face Galbatorix. "Do you have any more men I need to kill?"

The king sat aghast. He couldn't believe four of his most powerful soldiers and two of his magicians had just been slaughtered by this one man, who was so beyond even his comprehension, he began to wonder if he could count on Dabre's loyalty.

"That-that was unbelievable," Galbatorix gasped. "Not only did you take on four Vektøs Guard and win, you fooled two of my brightest magicians and destroyed them without any shown effort. What are you?"

"Let's just say I was created to be the best at what I am, with skills that were never supposed to be mine," Dabre explained. "And now, I will go. I can see I have no further use on this day."

The man pulled open the chamber door and stomped out, the guards visibly troubled by the presence of the faceless, stoic, mostly silent mass murderer.

_They'll get used to it_, Galbatorix thought. _They better_.

He felt Shruikan enter his mind. _Oh? And what are you going to do?_

_I shall do more horrible things than Dabre will, that is for sure!_

The huge dragon sneered. _You threaten with death and act with violence, and do you know why, Galbatorix? Because deep down, you are still heartbroken over the death of that previous dragon of yours, and so you have the desire to kill because you never got to kill the Urgal that killed her_.

_ENOUGH!_, Galbatorix roared. _I do not need emotional therapy from a giant piece of shit black lizard who has not once in his life had any kind of emotional connection with so much as a rat!_

_And who's fault is that?_, Shruikan asked.

At that, Galbatorix simply hit a mental brick wall. It was because of him Shruikan had grown to be an antisocial and hostile dragon.

_I-I will be leaving now. Eat the bodies if you want._

The king stepped off his throne and walked out into the hall. As he left, he heard one last gloat from Shruikan.

_You know that I am right. You try to hide it by pretending to do things you couldn't care less about. One of these days, Galbatorix, all of your wrongdoings will come spilling off your burdened shoulders_-

The doors shut and so did Galbatorix's connection to Shruikan. Contrary to the dragon's words, he was about to actually do something he had put off for quite a while.

_-In a village to the east of Urû'baen –_

He knocked hard on the flimsy wooden door leading into the hut. If he wanted, he could have just barged in as he pleased, but no. He wanted to break the news to this trash family slowly, until their small minds could put two and two together and figure out what he was saying. By then, he would be gone, not having to hear their pathetic sobs.

The door opened, revealing a stout man with a florid face, graying hair, and chalky white lips. The veins on his arms were visible, while the joints in his hands stuck out.

"And you are-?" the man asked, his age showing through his cracked and miniscule voice. Galbatorix scowled.

"You do not know who _I _am?" the king hissed, offended. "I am the king of this land you moron, so it would be best if you straightened your back and cleaned your face if you are to show respect!"

The man's eyes bulged. "You-you are Galbatorix?" he gasped. "I-I am s-s-so sorry! I didn't know ti was-"

"Alanar," a woman's voice called out. "Who are you talking to?"

"It is King Galbatorix!"

Galbatorix's eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched. Now he also had to deal with this hideous, impoverished tramp. Not what he planned at all.

The woman came up beside her husband, her scraggly hand resting on his shoulder. "You? You are-?"

"Yes, yes, I am King Galbatorix," he snarled. His patience was already slipping away.

"Is he alright?" the woman asked. "Our son, Ildrich, I mean. He joined the army, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," he grumbled. He was getting to the point at last. "Ildrich-he was a brave soldier, a good fighter. He loved his country and he made sure to crush the terrorism put out by the Varden, those murderers."

"I am proud to hear that," the man sighed, a smile of relief crossing his face. Galbatorix nearly vomited in his mouth.

"However, he had to pay a high price for his valor and bravery."

"What do you mean?" the man asked.

"He swore to me that he would fight for the Empire until the day he fell dead. His last words until they took him into the tent."

"What does that mean?" the woman rudely spat. The king shot her a nasty look.

"I-I am sorry. Your son fought well."

They seemed confused and turned to each other. Then, the woman let loose on him.

"I know what you are trying to do," she hissed. "You are trying to say Ildrich died in combat and are trying to get our next two sons into the army as well. It happened to my mother and brothers, and it will happen with my sons. Well, it looks like you have gotten what you wanted, you greedy ass! My sons were not dragged like my brothers, they came out forcefully, but now all of my viable offspring are going to die for you, _taxman_!"

"What?" Galbatorix said. "I sent no recruiters at all this past week! You must be out of your mind!"

"And you as well, you liar!" she cried. "I saw him with his deep gray eyes, long brown hair, and tanned skin!"

Galbatorix thought over who was currently alive in the Empire that served him, and ruled out all possibilities as to a recruiter save for one. Murtagh Morzansson, with his-

_Murtagh and Thorn_.

He had forgotten all about the two slaves. He angrily cried out, _Murtagh! Thorn! MURTAGH!_, but there was no response. It was as if his mind had never once come into contact with theirs. The only way this could have ever happened was if there true names had changed, and...no. It could not be.

Murtagh and Thorn had betrayed him, and had taken the two sons of these peasants with them.

His rage, already brimming over, completely spilled out, like water from a dam. He cursed and raged as he ran Vrangr through the woman, the sword sprouting from her back and drenched in gore. The man, being the coward he was, threw his arms up and ran. It did him no good as Galbatorix cried, "Jierda!" and tore his neck apart.

His rage still unsatisfied, he moved through the hut, learning the family contained a little girl as well. She screamed and began sobbing as she saw the huge man with the bloody sword. Disgusted by her crying, he made the tears stop by turning the water in her cells into wine. She stopped and twitched for a few more seconds as her tears turned blood red. She finally stopped and gave up to death. It was a truly macabre sight, and it honestly impressed Galbatorix.

The family dog was next as it tried to bite the king's leg, but the fangs were repelled by his wards. Annoyed, the dog burst into flames, yipping and barking as it ran through the hut, setting anything it touched ablaze before it fell dead, charred.

Seeing nothing left to kill, Galbatorix's rage lowered and realized he had to leave quickly. As the flames spread, he ran off, making sure there would be no evidence.

_**Well, what do you think? Special thanks to seh507 for Favoriting and Following. R&R you guys, and chapter 14 will be here in at least two more weeks, and after that, the Siege of Dras Leona! **_


	15. Chapter 14:Welcome to Hell, aka Aroughs

_**And now, we return to Roran and The Miner, along with everyone Roran brought. Here we finally come to the Siege of Aroughs. Prepares yourselves, children, for here comes a long bloodbath-chapter 14!**_

The rain did not pour as Roran and the six other men rode slowly to Aroughs. It slammed down with a vengeance, and while The Miner was protected by his mining gear, the same could not be said for Roran and the five others. It wasn't just their physical appearance that got battered, either; within minutes their supplies were wet and tarnished. The sandy patches of ground mixed with the heavy rain was not good either, the mud slowing their horses to a standstill and, when they decided to walk, rising all the way to their knees.

It took them another hour and a half to make it to the Varden's camp. He saw the telltale signs of Aroughs-walls white as a glacier, barred gates, and sturdy square stone towers.

The Varden's camp was not much better than the weather itself. Men were either gambling and drinking to an unhealthy degree, or pulling men, of whom were Imperial prisoners, by the hair along the muddy ground before slitting their throats and gouging out their eyes.

A youth, who by all rights should have not been there at the sight of the atrocities, simply ran past and up to Roran.

"Bring me Brigman," he said. The youth quickly nodded before running back, each squish of his boots amplified and reminding him of the pickaxe being removed from the servant at Feinster. The men had begun to stop their brutality and leaned on their swords and pikes, curiosity in their eyes, though it wasn't directed at Roran as it usually was. The soldiers focused on The Miner, but that was expected since he was carrying a long pickaxe and was dressed beyond their comprehension.

An aging man in a blue tunic walked forward, using a broken spear shaft as his walking staff. He had a beard gray like his hair, though the top of his lips was shaved cleanly and covered in perspiration. He didn't look happy in the least bit, his eyes staring at Roran like a murderous hawk.

"You are Roran Stronghammer?" the man asked. Roran nodded an affirmative, and fumbled through his tunic before handing him the rectangle of parchment Nasuada had given him. He tore the seal of wax with his thumb and scanned rather quickly before handing the parchment back.

"Captain Brigman," the man at last breathed, introducing himself. "We have been expecting you. Nasuada said you would be here in at least four days, though I did not expect you to be here so quickly."

"It was a matter of determination," Roran grumbled. Brigman turned to The Miner.

"Nasuada spread the message of several strange beings from another realm deciding to aid us. Many others, including myself, thought it was a bad joke, but seeing as to how oddly you dress and your choice of weapon, I now believe her. Tell me, boy, what is your name?"

The Miner audibly gulped(and through his gas mask, it sounded disgusting) and looked around uncertainly before answering, "The Miner, sir."

"The _Miner_? A most odd name! Surely you have a real name, yes?" Brigman pressed.

"I do, but then, telling you would spoil the whole movie!"

"Er-_**what**_?" Brigman asked, confused. Several of the Varden's soldiers jeered.

"I will explain it later," Roran said.

"I hope so." Brigman looked back before turning again to Roran. "The men are now under your full control, Stronghammer. We were just readying ourselves for an attack on the western wall. Would _you _care to _lead_?" The question was cold as steel. It was obvious Brigman did not take kind to being demoted as the leader.

"First, I would like to be brought up to date on Aroughs, and get some needed information. For the time being, tell them to stand down," Roran answered.

"What?! But, but we spent all morning planning the attack! If we stand down now, we will have to wait until tomorrow! Nasuada says we are to capture Aroughs in only three days, and I shall be the one to see that happen if no one else!" Brigman cried, stamping the spear into the mud to emphasize his point.

Roran leaned close him and, in a hushed tone only those nearby could hear, hissed, "You _will _order the men to stand down for the moment, or else I will personally thrash you in front of everyone here."

Brigman scoffed. "In your wet and exhausted state? You would accidentally drown yourself in the mud before I even make a move!"

"I would not be oh so sure, old man," Roran spat. "You are no longer commander, anyways-you will listen to me, or I will have you whipped before the whole camp."

"Roran-," The Miner worriedly said, but was stopped by Carn and Baldor. "Leave him," Baldor told him. "If he wants to make enemies, he shall make them. Besides, he knows what he is doing."

"At least, that is what we presume," Carn sighed.

Brigman scowled at Roran for several more seconds before giving into his demands. "Fine. But if the men are no longer ready to fight today after our expedition, it shall be on your head."

"Just as you are the one responsible for losing so many men without even entering a blasted city," Roran sneered. He saw Brigman's eyes narrow further, and his dislike morph into pulsing hate. He had wished he had said something less scathing and outright savage.

"If you will follow me-_Stronghammer_."

_-In front of Aroughs-_

Roran and the four other men(Brigman, Carn, The Miner, and Baldor) stopped at the southern end of the camp as expected. They could see Aroughs was separated into two tiers. The first was low and spread out and contained most of the buildings, while the second was at the very top of a gentle and curving rise. The outer wall of the city had five gates:two that were roads that opened into the city, while the other three allowed in canals that flowed southward into the city.

Fences surrounded at least one thatched hut, hundreds of which dotted the flat green plain surrounding Aroughs. It was easy to differentiate them from the houses of the city's nobles and certain wealthy merchants:their homes were large sprawling manors protected by their own high walls, and presumably, their own guards.

The northern gate was scarred from the constant hits from the battering ram and the men stupid enough to try to slam into it. In front of it were three catapults, four ballistae, and two poorly constructed siege towers. The disheartened men by their sides sat on the ground and gambled with dice gloomily smoking and drinking down their miseries.

"Do you think you could breach it?" Roran asked The Miner.

His already sunken black eyes drooped even lower. "The walls and the gates on them look too thick even for my pickaxe. It would take a while, and by then, the people defending this city would find out what's going on and open fire with their arrows. By the way, I'm not immortal or made of metaphorical iron like Jason and Michael, I'm simply human. It would be like involuntary suicide."

"Most precise description," Brigman asserted, making his way into their conversation. Roran turned to face him. "Tell me everything about Aroughs."

Brigman twisted the butt of his spear into the ground before speaking. "Galbatorix was quick to learn and made sure that the city was stocked with food before we cut off the roads between here and the rest of the Empire. Water is not even near being in short supply, and even if we somehow blocked the canals, there are dozens of springs and wells in the city. They could hold out at least until winter, though if I were them, I would be sick of eating nothing but cabbage and turnips. The king has also marched forth more than twice the amount of our soldiers into the city, along with the usual contingent."

"And you know this because-?"

"An informant. However, he was much too overconfident, and promised he could lead a small unit of men into the city under the cover of dark. His head is still mounted over at the parapet by the east gate."

Roran looked over to the gate. "Yes, I see. What are the walls and the gate constructed of?"

"The gates are a mixture of oak and iron, and could last a while even against a battering ram. The wall is of smoothly polished granite, and so tightly fitted you can't even slide a blade between the blocks, and probably has packed rubble within as well. I'd guess it was built before the fall of the Riders, by some especially crafty dwarves. They both extend down into the ground," Brigman answered as he shifted his weight.

"Not too far, though, or they would block the flow of the canals!" Baldor quipped up.

"You are right about that, boy. Below is a latticework of wood and steel, with holes large and spread out enough so they don't completely block the water flow. The wall, on the other hand, extends at least twelve feet below, probably more," Brigman explained.

As he listened to Brigman, that piece of information struck The Miner. He looked down once more at his pickaxe(which was something of a habit of his) and cleared his throat, the raspy noise catching the attention of the other men.

"I-I think I know how I could enter the city without even harming the upper wall," he said. "I could use my pickaxe to dig my way into the ground and then smash through the wall barriers."

"Is your pickaxe that strong?" Brigman asked. The Miner nodded. "Smashing through the ground and most rocks and metals would be no problem. The gate might be thick, but in the end, after some time, the pickaxe would win.

"There is very little fresh air under there. You wouldn't last long without intervention from an experienced magician," Brigman said.

"That's what my gas mask is for," he replied, pointing his thumb back at the oxygen tube.

"But you told us you are only human-" Roran was saying when The Miner cut him off.

"It's going to be underground. They likely won't hear, and even if they do, I'm sure their arrows won't reach me."

"Arrows won't be your only problem," Brigman told him. "Galbatorix seems to have invented some sort of powerful explosive device. We managed to kill two of the men wielding the weapon. The weapon works like this:one man slings the heavy thing over his shoulder, while a second man loads a black spherical object inside before shutting it. The man carrying the weapon pulls this trigger and the object speeds out, the rope atop it blazing with fire due to built up friction. The fire burns all the way down into the powder and ignites it, causing a terrible explosion."

"A grenade launcher," The Miner casually said.

"_What_?"

"It's a weapon similar to a weapon from my realm, called a grenade launcher. Of course, this grenade launcher you described seems to be much more primitive."

"If you say so," Brigman muttered.

"So when do you plan to start the attack?" Roran asked.

He seemed to mull over the question for a while, moving his eyes from side to side and scratching at his chin. At last, he told them, "Tomorrow morning, at dawn."

"Seems reasonable," Carn commented. Brigman, on the other hand, thought the exact opposite.

"NO! I will not wait another day! We have wasted too much time, and I want this city to fall into our hands by tonight-!" His furious rantings were stopped when Roran grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him forward, face to face.

"Have you forgotten, Captain Brigman? You don't command these men anymore. They are my men. And if they must wait until tomorrow to bring glory and victory to the Varden, then I shall have them wait. Your impatience shall not derail them, nor will it be an obstacle to me."

With that, he let go and shoved Brigman back, the former leader's eyes boiling with pure rage, but he was silent. He knew now there was no way he could get what he wanted here, and walked back to his tent.

"Was that truly necessary?" Carn asked Roran.

"He needed a wake up call, if you ask me," Roran mockingly sneered. He then turned to the Miner. "I will tell the men of your plan, and I swear, we _will_ be ready at dawn tomorrow."

The slasher simply shrugged and walked off, seemingly uninterested. Roran eyed him with suspicion as he walked on before facing Baldor.

"I'll make my way to my tent. Be sure to tell the other men of Carvahall of The Miner's plan, would you?"

Baldor nodded. "I won't forget. Trust me."

Walking off to the tent, Carn asked, "What are we to do if The Miner's plans fail?"

"Then I'll think of ideas. As I am expected to."

_-Later that evening-_

Roran finished the bowl of crushed meats, handing the bowl and spoon over to his servant there at the camp. As the flap opened, the servant stopped in front of The miner and stared for a bot before moving out of the way and letting the slasher in.

"What do you want?" he asked, being annoyed by the slasher's presence. Despite having been around him for nearly five days straight now, he failed to see past The Miner's insecure and rude demeanor. His disrespect of his own father(considered a sin in Carvahall) especially left Roran with a low opinion of the man.

"I have no tent," he said. "I was wondering if I could spend the night here."

"There is only one bed here," Roran told him.

"Then why the hell is he here?" The Miner asked, jabbing his finger at Carn, almost as if accusing him.

"He's just helping me coordinate a backup plan for tomorrow."

"So you think my idea is shit?" The Miner asked while his eyes narrowed.

"What? No! It's just that, that-well, you can never be sure-"

The Miner, obviously not pleased, took to sitting to the right of Roran's bed. He did not try to argue further though-he looked down, his focus unbroken. His presence made the air feel still and brittle, his silence only being broken by the deep amplified breathing from the gas mask.

Carn's expression obviously showed how unnerved by The Miner's presence he was. Even Roran admitted to himself that The Miner was quite a frightening figure when not speaking. He felt lucky he didn't have to face him, or any of the other slashers, in combat, or else he would be just another footnote in war history.

"Well-i-it's getting pretty late. I-I must be off to my quarters. I'll be seeing you tomorrow, I guess," Carn uneasily told them.

"Good night, Carn," Roran told him in reply. The magician nodded and cast a final glance at The Miner before leaving the tent. Roran moved to his bed, angrily looking at the slasher.

"What was the point of that interruption?" he growled. "You know, you _really _are not needed here."

"Oh?" The Miner snorted, finally looking up. "And would you have come up with a plan as quickly and believably without me? I doubt it, to be honest."

"What the hell is your problem? Why are you such an ass towards everyone?"

"None of your business!" The Miner hissed with unexpected hostility. "Besides, I'm not an ass to everyone!"

"Really? Then why did you scream your lungs out at your own father? Do you have no discipline, you spoiled brat?"

In the blink of an eye, Roran fell back on his bed and felt the cold steel at his throat, slowly crushing it down. He felt something heavy come down on his chest. It felt like a boot.

"You better take that back!"

Roran coughed and wheezed as the boot took the wind from his chest. "I-I have nothing to apologize-!"

"You better take it back, and mean it!" The Miner commanded. "Otherwise, this pickaxe is gonna take a big scoop out of your throat!"

"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay?!"

The Miner stepped back, removing the pickaxe and his boot. Roran gasped for air as he threw his body back up. He took a few seconds to calm himself down, before slowly turning to face The Miner.

"Do _not _ever do that again."

"Ditto."

They sat in silence for a minute more when Roran decided to find out why the slasher was so constantly angry. Of course, this time it could actually cost him his life, but he would be discontent without trying to understand this dangerous creature.

"Why did you treat your father like that?" he asked him. "Come on, tell me. I won't be such an asshole about it again."

The Miner coldly looked back up to him. "You have no idea what the hell it's like to live with _that _retarded asshole. Did you know that on my _eight goddamn birthday_, he didn't even bother to get me a cake because he told me I was gonna grow to be a fat ass anyway? And then, he threatened my mom when she promised to buy me a cake with her money instead!"

"What did he say?"

"He threatened to take her wallet and sell the money! _Sell the fucking money_! How retarded do you have to be to actually think about doing something so stupid?!"

Roran couldn't believe what he was hearing. Honestly, what man threatened to steal money and then sell it? And then, there was the insult. It sounded not bitter, but outright mean spirited, and might he say, abusive.

"And that's not the end of it, oh no!" The Miner rambled on. "When it was Father's Day_, _I offered to take him to a Batman movie that had just came out, his favorite superhero. His response? I should stop wasting my time, and then he drives off to the bar with his friends."

"Father's Day? Batman? Superhero?" Roran asked, perplexed and raising an eyebrow.

"You're missing the point," The Miner grumbled. "Tell me:how would you feel with a man like that being your father?"

Roran realized his point. He probably could not survive one day with an asshole like that as his father, and it would be utter torture being from Carvahall, where his beliefs would take lead, first and foremost.

"My father was not abusive like The Prowler. But the fact he didn't even try to teach me the letters of the alphabet, said it would do me no good, and left me to become just another farmer if he were to survive..." Roran shook his head. He couldn't believe what he was saying, but it was too true.

"You see? We all resent our parents in one way or another, and it influences us. No one is normal, and nobody is perfect."

"Not even the elves?" Roran asked.

"What about them?"

"Well, they're the race most adept at magic, combat, literature-"

"They're probably rotten inside too," The Miner sneered. "Speaking of elves, you now that one with black hair always around that Eragon kid?"

"Arya?"

"Yeah. She's hot."

"Hot? What do you mean?"

"It's slang. Seeing as to how you people love formality, I'm gonna put it as explicitly as possible:she's sexually exciting."

The conversation had just taken an awkward tone. Feeling mightily uncomfortable, he laid down on the bed and dusted off his pillow. "Good night, Miner."

"Good night," The Miner yawned as he moved forward and pulled the blanket off the bed and pulled it over himself.

"Nice," Roran grumbled as he finally put out the candles and laid down on the bed, curling up so as to try to warm himself up. He should have just kicked the slasher out.

_-Early that morning-_

Roran slumbered heavily. Not even the constant pushing of his body could wake him, and he only opened his eyes and shot up out of bed when he heard the growing clattering and clinking of metal outside his tent.

"Damn, it's already past dawn!" he cursed as he splashed some water onto his face and picked up both his hammer and helmet.

"About time you woke up," The Miner groaned. "Carn and those guys from Carvahall were already awake and waiting two hours ago. Brigman is assembling the men in front of the gate, come on!"

Roran and Miner hurried out of the tent and met Carn, Baldor, and the three other men just a few feet in front of the tent.

"Mandel, send for my two spears. Delwin, get my armor and shield. Hamund, go grab my dagger. Come on, come on!" he ordered, the three Carvahall men nodding and scampering to get the needed equipment for the battle. As they left, Roran, The Miner, Carn, and Baldor ran up to Brigman, standing around three feet from the northern gate.

"When you are ready," he told The Miner, who simply nodded in response, gripping the handle of the pickaxe tightly, his palms sweating inside the gloves.

"How do the guards of Aroughs not hear us?" Roran asked.

"It's still early in the morning. Curfew hours," Brigman explained to them. At that precise moment, Mandel, Hamund, and Delwin ran up with the materials.

"Quickly, put your armor and shield and weapons on," Carn told him. Roran found the greaves and bracers strangely discomforting, unexpectedly scowling when he fitted the shield onto his left arm. Tucking in the spears and dagger, he looked to the Miner and said, "Ready."

The slasher sighed heavily as he took two steps forward and then slammed the pickaxe into the earth, the rock flying apart with a brutal _clang_. He struck the ground four more times, and on the fourth, finally managed to cave in a good portion of the ground. Kicking aside the pieces of broken rock and flung soil, he plopped into the earth below. He digged a few feet deeper before smashing his way forward. The sound of the pickaxe ripping through the lower wall was hideous, as if though with each strike, a brief but destructive avalanche went down. Finally, the clamorous noises came to a dead halt. A minute or so passed before they heard the lead road in the city breaking open, a horrible noise as if though Hell itself was breaking through the street.

Several screams came from the city and a muffled cry.

"What now?" Brigman asked Roran and Carn.

The answer came when the northern gate slid open slowly but steadily, revealing the interior of Aroughs. Another scream came.

"Now!" Roran half whispered, half shouted to all of the soldiers. The men, smart enough to not give battle cries, ran in and still made quite some noise with their heavy steel armor war boots.

_We should have had their boots covered in rags_, Roran regrettably thought to himself.

As the Varden began to crowd into the empty streets, Roran saw The Miner run out of a sentry post and up beside him and Carn.

"How did you quickly manage to get the gate open like that?" he asked him.

"I killed the men inside the post and then ordered the last one to open it. Then I killed him," he answered. "Ah," Roran said.

Two farmers carrying yokes with hanging buckets of milk came out from an alley, and stopped dead before the army. "Slytha," Carn whispered. A second later, their eyes rolled into their head and they dropped to the ground, the milk spilling and forming web like veins across the lead pavement.

"Did you kill them?" The Miner asked.

"No, I simply used that spell to put them to sleep."

"Grab them and hide them! We can have no evidence!" Roran hissed. Several soldiers ran up and grabbed the farmers and hoisted them into the darkness of an alley.

"Keep moving!" Roran told the Varden.

Their movement into the city was halted not by several soldiers, but by a whole platoon. Around two hundred regular foot soldiers, fifty cavalry men, one hundred archers, and several men with black robes and a yellow flame stitched in. Obviously Imperial magicians.

"Oh, no. Oh no, it's the Varden! Raise the alarm, the Varden is-!"

An arrow embedded itself into his face, igniting the fight. The Varden charged forward and rammed into the platoon. One spear carrier tried to jab him in the ribs, and instead received a hammer to the jaw. A tall man, with a scar running down his right eyelid, unsheathed a curved dagger and ran it towards Roran's heart. His shield blocked the blow and the skirmish ended when Roran slammed his hammer into his throat. The man crumpled with a sick gurgling noise from his mouth.

Amongst the soldiers, The Miner reveled in the absolute carnage. He tore apart five magicians with his pickaxe before impaling a sixth. He flung off the magician and into another Imperial, distracting him. As he looked at The Miner, his skin went pale and the veins on his forehead throbbed before his complexion returned to normal. He raised his sword and struck down four of his comrades in rapid succession before ramming an archer in the face, sending him flying into several of his comrades. His odd reign ended when a swordsman lopped his head clean off.

Roran turned to face Carn, who was breathing heavily and leaning over.

"Carn! Carn! What is wrong?"

The magician chugged down half the water in his wineskin before answering. "I took control of that soldier's mind. Keeping it in control was hard enough, but his sudden death took a large chunk of my raw energy."

"Don't try something difficult like that again, okay? We need you," he told Carn as warm blood sprayed onto them. They looked to see a crudely decapitated head rolling towards them, with The Miner jumping over the headless corpse.

An arrow whizzed towards The Miner's face. He ducked, and unfortunately, it led to the arrow embedding itself into a Varden soldier's head. The death oddly enraged Roran. He had never seen such a gruesome casualty amongst their ranks, and as the body fell, he swore he would make the archer pay. The promise ended when The Miner's pickaxe tore through the archer's face.

"Baldor!" he called. "Get the other men of Carvahall and fifty others! Form a block and head to the portcullis! There are few men there-"

He screamed loudly as he felt the cold steel rip his left shoulder open, the blade scratching against the bone. Turning his head, a hawk nosed, black haired man atop a gray charger pulled out the bloody blade. His eyes were devoid of emotion, simply staring at Roran as if though they were meeting for business. Biting into his tongue accidentally, he spat blood into the man's face. Only his eyes closed in reaction. Disgusted by this maniac's cold behavior, he hammered the man's face and sent him flying off the horse. At that moment, the horse sped off and accidentally trampled over an Imperial.

"Baldor, Miner! Go over there with those fifty men!" Roran cried as Carn rushed over to his shoulder. A prick came and went, and he gritted his teeth as he felt Carn picking at and mending the cut. The area had mostly been cleared of the Empire's soldiers and all of the Imperial magicians were dead. Over by a sidewalk, a man of the Varden clutched at an arrow stuck in his ankle.

Roran, Carn, and the other men not of the fifty five at the portcullis ran to the area while dragging along the wounded and heard several gates and doors being thrown open.

"Hurry, Miner. Smash through it."

The Miner nodded and swung the pickaxe, tearing the front of the portcullis to pieces. The Varden poured into the pitch darkness while the trumpets of the Empire sounded and the clattering of boots pounded on the streets of the city.

_We're not even at the center of Aroughs, and already our presence is known to them!_, Roran though as The Miner turned on the headlight on his mask.

_**BOOM!**_

At least six men vanished in the ball of fire, while those closest to the explosion were thrown through the air and crashed into the marble walls. Roran looked up to see that at the top of the passageway were two ledges, and on them were men holding weapons slung on their shoulders, exactly like Brigman had explained.

He could have screamed to them to take cover, but there was nowhere to hide. Another one of the bombs were loaded, and he knew that they were going to be trapped here like lambs to the slaughter.

"Archers, open fire!" he cried as the next bomb flew out and hit the ground. The Varden spread out and ducked their heads as it exploded and tore up the road, turning it into shrapnel which cut apart several of the Imperial soldiers on the ledges. At the same time, two groups of Imperials ran into the passageway and split the Varden into two as well:one which dealt with the Imperials, the other backing the archers as they at last fired their arrows high into the ledges and killed eight of the men and wounded three.

The Miner joined the soldiers dealing with the groups of Imperials and saw two of the Varden fall in the fight. Tossing the pickaxe into the head of the soldier who killed the second man, he saw an Imperial throw down his sword and try to pull out the weapon.

_Idiot_, The Miner thought when he saw the man struggle with the weapon. Tearing out his knife, Miner drove it into the back of the soldier's neck and relished his final blood curdling scream before he dropped to the ground. Taking out the pickaxe, he swung high in a circular motion, catching one Imperial on his breastplate and tearing his chest open. The only reason he didn't continue was because he felt something rather heavy and blunt slam into his head.

Looking down, he saw it was a bomb. Seeing it had not yet exploded, he kicked the thing into the back of the two Imperial groups, and was slightly annoyed by all the blood and pieces of burnt flesh that splattered onto the lenses on his mask. Having cleared the area of the majority of the Imperials, he and the rest of the group turned and followed Roran's men through the passageway and finally back into the sunlight.

"Where are we?" Roran asked Brigman.

"We're in the courtyard of Lord Halstead's palace," he answered.

"Lord Halstead?" Roran said, confused.

At that, Brigman facepalmed. "The ruler of Aroughs! Is it not obvious by the title of 'Lord'? Keep moving!"

Unfazed by Brigman's annoyed tone, he and the rest of the army marched onward into the courtyard and passed a large black statue of a dragon, perhaps Galbatorix's. They searched the front gate and took position in front of it before securing the western gate of the palace.

_Where are all of the guards?_, Roran thought. _Doesn't Halstead care about keeping his city?_

They could still hear the frantic running and screaming of the soldiers in the distance, but beyond that, there was no sign of any opposition in the city. There was no noise in the courtyard, not even the sound of birds chirping or fish swimming in the pond. It honestly disturbed Roran and left the rest of the men on edge.

The stillness was broken when a spear whistled past Roran's ear and landed right in the face of one of the Varden soldiers. The man died on the spot, the bone structure in his face pushed up by the blade of the spear and pushing back his brain.

A second after he fell to the ground, a total of five hundred eighty seven Imperial soldiers leaped over the top wall and began firing arrows and jabbing spears at the Varden. Most of them had no success due to the Varden thinking fast and using their shields, but that wasn't the case for all of them:eight of the men surrounding Brigman fell to the archers, including Brigman's personal bodyguard, who received an arrow to the head.

"Do something!" Roran growled to Carn.

"But, you said I should not-"

"Do something NOW, dammit!" he cried. The magician nodded.

An Imperial general collapsed with an arrow flying into his left eye socket, the archer raising an eyebrow and scratching his head. Right next to him, a spear-carrier tried to impale an Varden soldier but instead killed a rapier wielder, the blade of the spear going into his jaw. Some of the archers, swordsmen, and spear-carriers even accidentally killed themselves, as if though stupidity and a lack of coordination had infected all of their brains.

"Are you doing anything?" Roran asked Carn. The magician nodded, but his eyes were tired and his skin becoming pale.

"I'm making their own men kill each other. However, it is a difficult spell, and it's starting to get to me as you can see," Carn explained. He drank some more water from his wineskin and gulped down two handfuls of a special food combination consisting of honey, powdered liver, lamb's heart, and walnuts. The one time Roran had tasted it, he had vomited the whole thing, but he knew that even a few morsels of food could give back the energy needed to carry out a hard day's work.

By the time Carn had finished his third helping of the food, all of the soldiers had killed themselves. The Miner walked up to the gate into the palace and hacked through it, carving a hole large enough so everyone could walk in. The Varden soon poured into the huge building, the servants and guards inside shrieking and throwing their arms up and surrendering themselves without a second thought.

_Are Halstead's guards this cowardly?_, Roran questioningly thought to himself as he walked over to Brigman.

"Any more of your group dead besides those eight?" he asked.

He nodded. "Two cavalry men dead, along with one soldier with a badly cut face, another with a broken arm, and one more with a nasty flesh wound on his upper torso."

The rest of the day was mostly uneventful. Seven of Halstead's personal guards tried to attack him, though The Miner killed all of them quickly enough-three of them with the pickaxe, the four others with some strange weapon he called a "nail gun". In due time, Halstead, along with his son Tharos and daughter Galiana, were forced to surrender once they realized the Varden had managed to not only break into the city but also capture the center, and had also killed a hefty amount of their soldiers.

The Miner did a good job in convincing the servants and guards to not rebel, mostly by tapping their throats with the pickaxe and holding the nail gun to their heads. Halstead's top magician, a sallow man with a hooked nose, was forced to give into the Varden's demands once Carn had broken into his mind, which surprised several of the men because of how little his knowledge of magic truly was.

Roran walked over to Baldor and Brigman, who were pulling an arrow out of Hamund's side. The man had been left injured after the brief but brutal skirmish in the courtyard, along with around a handful of other men.

"Baldor," he spoke up. "I want you to go find a healer now. These men need proper treatment if we are to return to the Varden."

"Yes, Roran!" Baldor turned and ran down the leftmost corridor as The Miner stood over dozens of men, women, and children in the palace.

He turned to Brigman. "How many are dead, in total?"

"Only thirty, remarkably."

"Good, I want all-"

He heard the twang of the bow, several heavy footsteps, and lastly the snapping of wood. Roran spun around to see The Miner standing over the two broken halves of an arrow, and several men of the Varden crying out and running forth, tackling a man in a red tunic with a yellow stitched flame.

"Captain Stronghammer, we have the cowardly bastard!" one of the men spat. The archer surprised Roran-he looked to be no more than sixteen, and he had had a certain sense of both repulsion and horror in his beady brown eyes.

"Who are you?!" Roran barked at the boy. He merely hissed and thrashed around in a vain attempt to escape from the clutches of the soldiers. The Miner put his nail gun to the boy's temple.

The boy looked up at the slasher, and the repulsion in his eyes changed to pure terror. Of course, most people were scared by a tall individual with the gas mask of his like, making no noise besides his heavy breathing, but for the boy, it was almost as if though he were staring at some sort of eldritch abomination.

The boy turned back to Roran. Please, sir, please-don't let it kill me!" he squealed. The Miner seemed to take offense to being called "it" and whipped the boy in the face with the nail gun.

"I'm not telling you who I am, you disgusting murderer," the boy spat. "Do you want to know why I want to kill you so much, though? My brother, only of sixteen years, was slaughtered by that monster Eragon _Shadeslayer_! So what better way to hurt him back by being the one to kill you, Roran _Strong_hammer, his only remaining relative?" At that, the boy laughed.

The Miner seemed to decide he had had enough of this bullshit and pulled the trigger, firing two nails into the boy's head. Everyone seemed to gasp as the boy's body slumped, his skin going pale and his eyes rolling up into his head before they shut.

"Why-_why _did you do that?!" Roran screamed.

"He deserved it," was all The Miner said. The men hauled the boy's corpse out of the room as they shouted for the servants to get out of the way.

_-POV change-_

"And as for Aroughs itself?" Galbatorix asked the messenger.

"Captured under the command of Captain Roran Stronghammer," the messenger admitted. "There are reports one of those strange people were there."

"Ah, yes, the Varden's little pet slashers," the king chuckled halfheartedly. The messenger seemed to not understand what he meant.

"I want half of our troops to march to Dras Leona, and there, we shall see whether these slashers can truly stand up to a challenge. If so, they will be worthy of being my most prized collections. If not, then they and the Varden shall fail, and Eragon and Saphira will be mine. Well, what are you waiting for? Go on!"

The messenger bowed and ran out of the room. Galbatorix walked into his private study and gazed at the fairths of ten of the slashers. In due time, the real deal would be in this same room, waiting for his next command.

_**See how easily the Varden could have taken Aroughs in the books if they just had the slashers? Special thanks to DragonKnightsTemplar for reviewing, Favoriting, and Following, and to mezvg for taking the time to check out the story. R&R, please, and stick around for the next three chapters, which will be the Siege of Dras Leona. In other words, pure bloodshed and chaos, the kind you guys just love. **_


	16. Chapter 15:Exodus

_**The final chapter before the Siege of Dras-Leona. Here the slashers learn the basics of magic and The Prowler gives his final lesson in training. R&R.**_

Eragon took a deep breath as he knocked on the cabin door. Several heavy footsteps came closer from within before the door was thrown open. Jason stood heaving silently studying Eragon intently.

At last, he grumbled, "What do you want?"

Eragon cleared his throat. "I have decided to come here and give you and the other slashers some needed information. It must be heard if you are to survive in our world."

"Oh? And just how "needed" is this information?" he asked.

Before Eragon could answer, they heard The Prowler shout, "_Hey, Voorhees! Who the hell is it?!_" Eragon hissed at the sound of the man's voice.

"Alright, come on in," Jason said motioning. Eragon took one final step up the porch steps and made his way into the dim cabin, the door shutting behind him. Shocked, Eragon turned to see what had closed it and saw the floating axe wielded by the Captain.

His surprise subsiding, Eragon saw all of the slashers(minus The Miner, who was still traveling back from Aroughs) gathered at the back and staring at him.

"Well, look who it is," The Prowler mockingly sneered. "If it isn't our _special _little teen magician! I suppose this is important if you interrupted our little _recreation time._"

Eragon ignored his mocking tones and motioned for Jason to join the slashers in their spot. From the glaring look he gave as he passed, it was clear Jason didn't like getting told what to do by him.

"Now, I am sorry if I have interrupted anything important you were doing at the moment. However, I feel now is the time to give you an important lesson if you expect to survive Alagaësia. I know you must all know by now, but in this world magic exists. I have come to teach you several basic points concerning the nature of magic:raw energy, the Ancient Language, and mental communication and defense.

"Raw energy is the measurement of how much physical work and magical prowess can be done by an individual. For spells such as creating a fire or moving water, little raw energy is required. However, things such as slowing time or turning one element into another, while possible, require much raw energy and, if along with being worded incorrectly, are almost always fatal."

"That means the more raw energy a magically capable creature has, the more powerful they are," Pinhead observed dryly.

Eragon nodded. "Precisely. Along with raw energy comes the nature of wards. As I am sure most of you know, wards are the invisible magical barriers surrounding and protecting a person. Most magicians and their compatriots have at least several with them just in case. If there is something such as a particular spell or an enchanted arrow, it can cut through a ward. Repeated brute force is also an option, capable of making a magician either faint from exhaustion or die. Alien weapons and powers are also able to tear through a ward because the ward is not prepared for it. Seeing your capabilities, wards should be of little concern to you lot."

Jason took in the information and thought over it. Wards were definitely not a threat, seeing as to how the people of this world had no idea how to deal with the slashers' weapons and powers.

"Our next point of interest is the Ancient Language. Everything in the world has a word for it in the Ancient Language. For example, my sword is called Brisingr." At that, Brisingr flared up before Eragon quickly cut off the spell. "It means fire in the Ancient Language. It _is_ fire. Some words in the language have no magical effect by themselves. Like _fethrblaka_, which means bird. It does nothing if not directed. However, _letta fethrblaka_, which means "stop bird", can be used to stop an incoming avian. Also, you _cannot _lie in the Ancient Language.

"Another major aspect of the Ancient Language is True Names. Every living thing in existence has a True Name. A True Name is power, it is _understanding_. It encompasses an individual's true being, everything they have done, what distinguishes them, what they are. A word of warning, though:if one person learns another person's True Name, they have absolute power over them, like how Galbatorix made Murtagh and Thorn his slaves. So if any of you happen to find out your True Name, do _not _tell me, do _not _tell Nasuada, do not even share it amongst yourselves. You never know when someone beyond your power could break into their mind and steal that knowledge."

A few of the slashers were disturbed by this, though most brushed it aside as a nuisance lesson, for their minds were too fortified to be broken into by the Empire's mages.

"And lastly, telepathic communication and defense," Eragon began, when Chucky groaned abruptly.

"We already know! Every time _Dickhead _here has some _important news _to tell us but can't just teleport because he's that damn lazy, he bursts into our minds!"

"It is desire that summons us from the Labyrinth, doll, not our own will," Pinhead blandly told Chucky.

"Well, that sounds fine and all, but do you know how to defend your mind from an intruding magician?" Eragon asked. "Would anyone care to volunteer and try to defend their mind from me?"

Pumpkinhead growled and stepped forward. Eragon looked up to face the towering vengeance demon. He nodded.

"Ready yourself."

Eragon inhaled and exhaled before opening his mind and began barging into Pumpkinhead's mind, and stopped dead. The beast's mind was surrounded by a solid wall of mental defense, so much so that he could see nothing of Pumpkinhead's thoughts and memories. There was just quiet blackness.

_Brisingr!_, Eragon shouted in his head, still trying to get into Pumpkinhead's mind even as his body was covered in sapphire blue flame. The beast's defensive wall did not so much as waver. Eragon clenched his teeth as he extinguished the fire.

He thought of a new strategy. Still trying to worm his way into Pumpkinhead's mind, he gasped as he shouted, "I-I just got an alert from Nasuada! The city-we're under attack again!"

The slashers readied their weapons and began running toward the door, even Pumpkinhead, when Eragon sighed and told them to stop.

"I lied," he grunted. "I was just trying to get Pumpkinhead to lower his mental defenses. It seems it didn't work."

He withdrew from Pumpkinhead's mind as he scratched the vein on his forehead, which began bulging as he strained himself during the skirmish.

"Anybody else want to try?" Eragon asked.

"Yes, I think I shall," The Tall Man answered as he walked up slowly to Eragon.

This time, he did not even bother to warn him as he plunged into The Tall Man's mind, and found it to be completely unprotected. Eragon wondered why the slasher was being this foolish when he got a look at the world of the dead.

The Tall Man's dwarf zombie slaves, the Lurkers, marched ceaselessly from point A to point B, dousing rotting human corpses in some horrid liquid. In the center was a smoking cathedral, where an otherworldly bell endlessly chimed. At the top of the tower, eyeless people jumped off mindlessly and onto a sea off rocks and writhing corpses, impaling themselves on the stone spikes while some giant scorpion use it's claws to cut the bodies to pieces, storing the shreds in it's back. In the flaming sky, some huge tentacled abomination delightfully picked at and toyed with more corpses, putting body parts where they did not belong, such as eyes where ears were supposed to be and hands in the place of a jaw.

Eragon almost instantly withdrew from The Tall Man's mind, and fell to his knees, tearing at his hair.

"NO! The living-retreat, no! _My world_..." he madly began screaming as several of the slashers ran over and began screaming into his ears and grabbing at his shoulders.

_Eragon! What is going on with your mind?!_, Saphira asked him. He shoved her out.

"Eragon! Eragon! _**ERAGON!**_" Freddy screamed. Michael slapped him hard. And then, without warning, his eyes opened and he looked back up. He stopped screaming.

"A simple warning, boy:do not _ever _try to get into my head again," Tall Man calmly told him.

"It-it was just a mock fight!" Eragon growled.

"Well, then you lost," Tall Man scoffed. "Feel glad you did not lose the game entirely."

Arya suddenly walked in, her eyes narrowed and her expression stern. "What happened here? Saphira told me Eragon's mind felt wrong and he suddenly cut off their telepathic link. She said you were here."

Eragon looked into her eyes. "Er, nothing Arya, nothing. I will tell you later tonight, okay?"

Arya eyed him and then the slashers suspiciously before turning and leaving.

Eragon stood and cleared his throat. He looked at all of the blank faces and masks staring at him.

"Well, that is all you need to know. Remember to keep in mind the basics of what I just taught you. You will need it here in the war."

He began to push open the door, when Jason slapped his forehead and angrily turned towards the Killbots.

"How come you didn't remind me during the meeting?!"

"Of what, sir?" Protector 2 droned.

"The Uni-Silo!"

"Our apologies."

Intrigued, Eragon crept back into the cabin. "What is this "Uni-Silo" that you speak of?"

Jason faced him. "The Killbots found out that some ancient artifact called the Uni-Silo is the only thing capable of getting us back home, as it can open portals between universes. To work, it needs quartz, molten sapphire, something called brightsteel, and some energy types:heat, light, atomic, electrical, and-oh, what else was there?"

"Magnetic and magical energy," Protect 3 told him.

"Yeah, that. You know anything about it?"

"I'm afraid not," Eragon said, shaking his head. "I'll ask Glaedr if he knows of it."

"Who?" Ghostface asked.

Quickly, Eragon told them of Glaedr and Oromis and their deaths at Gil'ead, as well as what an eldunarí was. He then opened his pouch and took out the heavy organ.

"So, this dead dragon's soul is basically hiding in this little organ?" Candyman asked confusedly.

"Yes. He is in dormancy after his grief when Oromis died. I don't know how to get to him, but I must try."

This only raised further questions, and after answering them all, Eragon departed for his quarters.

_-POV change;later the next morning-_

Svern forced himself out of the tent, just as he had done for the past three days. He could see the hazy blue sky, a sign that it was still just barely morning. Hundreds of other soldiers of the Varden walked tiredly to the brown pavilion, none of them eager for what was going to happen.

Most were particularly exhausted after what had happened yesterday, when The Prowler had challenged them to try to fight him; they had all failed. The Prowler's biting remarks were still fresh in Svern's mind.

_If you can't even scratch me, how do you expect to fight the Empire?! Your enemy will never always be stupid, so you can't be either! Do any of you even understand?_

He entered the pavilion and stood eight feet away from the center where The Prowler was standing. As soon as the last man entered, they all fell silent by instinct.

"_A-TTEN-TION!_" he shouted. The men stood rigid.

"It has come to my notice that tomorrow, we will be leaving to begin Operation:Sin City! I want one last day of training before we make the move!"

"Sir!" one of the soldiers shouted. "What do you mean by Operation:Sin City, sir?"

The Prowler walked up to the soldier and looked down at him, and even though there was the rag on his face, everyone knew it was filled with disgust.

"We're gonna be laying siege to Dras-Leona, you giant dumbass! Don't you know anything about code-names?" The Prowler then lifted the rag and spat on the soldier's head before putting it back on. The soldier's expression did not change, for if it did, The Prowler would deride him even more for showing signs of weakness.

"I want you all to learn pain. _Real _pain, not some shallow cut on your hand!" The Prowler coldly snarled before he went to the back of the pavilion and came back with a table and pot of water. Boiling hot water.

"What I want you to do is place both of your hands in this pot and keep it in their for a minute! Then..." he pulled out his bayonet and dipped it into the water, "I want you to grab this bayonet, and cut your hands with it! That understood?!"

"YES SIR!"

Svern, however, was thinking just the opposite.

_He must have lost what little sanity he had left!_, he thought. _Does he really think this will help us?_

The first to go was Svern's friend who had woke him up on the first day of training. He instantly screamed and pulled his hands out, only for The Prowler to shove them back in. His hideous shrieks of pain went on for another minute before he shred the flesh off his left palm, and fell back into the crowd wailing in complete pain.

This continued for around two more hours before it was at last Svern's turn. He was horrified as he looked at the pot, then at The Prowler, then back at the pot.

"What the hell are you waiting for?! COME ON!"

Svern took one final look at the scarred hands of the other soldiers with him before uneasily making his way up to the table.

He inhaled.

He exhaled.

And then, he plunged his hands into the brutally hot water. He couldn't even take it for a second. His hands went flying out, a blood curdling scream bursting from his lungs. Almost immediately in response, The Prowler grabbed his wrists and submerged his hands into the water, holding them so tightly he felt like they were about to burst.

The Prowler then tore his hands out and shoved the bayonet into his grasp. The blade slid into his right palm, and he dropped the thing as the heat quickly began to cauterize the fresh wound. In the process, as it fell to the floor, part of his left ring finger was slashed.

Shoved back into the crowd, Svern had to endure the pain and the screams of the remaining soldiers. Every part of his body was screaming for him to go get a healer, but there was no chance of that.

Twenty minutes after Svern's incident, The Prowler left the pavilion. The men held their tongues as they were left alone, for if they were caught talking when he returned, they would all be disciplined with twenty lashes from the whip, as they had learned two days earlier.

Three minutes later, he walked back in with Pinhead by his side.

_What's that pain loving freak doing here?_, Svern asked himself in his head. The other soldiers seemed to be thinking the same thing by their scowls.

"If you would, Pinhead..." The Prowler said before Pinhead nodded.

Out of nowhere, hundreds of soldiers of the Empire appeared on the opposite side of the room. They were closely packed, shields interloped and swords being drawn.

_What the-?!_, Svern was thinking when the soldiers charged. They were given little respite and drew their own weapons at the last second when the Imperials began slashing and stabbing at them. Several of the men of the Varden fell to the ground, clutching at their bleeding wounds. Quickly, they were pushed back towards the front door.

"What are you doing?! Fight! Actually PUSH THEM BACK!" they heard The Prowler shout. "Why are you just letting them corner you, you pussies?!"

Svern ran his sword through an Imperial's heart, and he seemingly vanished into thin air. If the men were simply illusions though, why were the wounds their weapons inflicted so real?

"FOCUS! FIGHT!"

Svern was forced to put aside almost every other thought except trying to move forward while killing the illusions. He received a cut on his right thigh and was stabbed in the left shoulder, making his left arm go slack. It was almost a miracle none of them died when they finally killed the illusions, but in the process, almost three hundred of them were wounded, some seriously and beginning to bleed to death.

"Now, I will take you to the Killbots to be healed," The Prowler began to say, "but your hands will not be healed. If you ask for them to be healed, you will receive twenty lashings. Is that understood?"

"YES SIR!"

"Then follow me!"

_-Later that night-_

After the Killbots had healed the soldiers, The Prowler had them disperse their "trajectory fission missiles" while they were disengaged so they would not explode. He ordered forth Eragon and Murtagh as well as the slasher named Marty.

"We will be constructing mortars with this equipment. In case you stone age dumbasses have no fucking idea, which I am very sure you do not, mortars are a type of artillery weapon from my world. They are perfect for taking out both targets in the open and within trenches. If the blast doesn't blow you to bits, you'll lose all four of your limbs."

The men were forced to hammer out and flatten boards of iron before nailing them together to form a tube. They then put small stilts a foot above the bottom opening so as to allow the mortars to stand.

Svern in particular hated doing all of this hard labor, especially as dinner was approaching. If the slashers had never came here, he could have still been walking to the mess hall with his friends, laughing, talking, instead of he and his friends having to kill the nerves in their hands and make weapons several hundred years beyond their comprehension.

"Now, where do we come into this?" Murtagh asked.

"I was going to ask the same thing," Marty snorted.

"You two," The Prowler answered as he pointed to Eragon and Murtagh, "will be holding Marty's acid in stasis so it can't eat through the grenade or missile. You, Rantzen, will pour your acid into this."

He took one of the trajectory fission missiles and had Marty pour some of his nitric acid into the weapon before Murtagh and Eragon said something strange in the Ancient Language. The Prowler placed a grenade into and then placed the missile into the mortar and told Murtagh and Eragon to use a spell to make it fire.

The missile went flying out faster than Svern could blink and dove down after it had flown over the gate into Belatona. A flash of dark red light appeared for a few brief seconds, towering over the gate, while two explosions went of at once.

"And that, is _our _mortar," The Prowler breathed, saying it almost as if though he was relieving cheerful memories from a war he fought in. It didn't last for long.

"Now go-make some more!"

_-Later the next morning-_

The supply train was a mile-and-a-half-long line of carts, wheeled pens, and wagons flanked by the horned cattle the Varden had gotten from Surda and which they had gotten from farmers along the way. Within them were the livestock and provisions that belonged to them.

In front of that was the mass of men compromising the Varden's and Surda's foot soldiers, and to their side was Orrin's cavalry-snorting and prancing chargers of the finest breed.

Along with the supply train and the infantries and cavalry, there were the twenty two slashers and approximately four hundred of Tall Man's Lurkers, Gravers, and Demon Troopers, which he had created from the bodies of fallen Imperial soldiers that had not been thrown into fires to be cremated. Encircling him were a dozen Sentinels.

In the air were Saphira with Eragon and Thorn with Murtagh. Below them were Blödhgarm and Eragon's eleven other elven guards, as well as the sixty elves sent to the Varden by Queen Islanzadí, and leading them was Arya.

Dras-Leona was their destination.

_**And with this, we shall come to Operation:Sin City. Thanks to DragonKnightsTemplar for reviewing again and mezvg for promising to check out the rest of it. Questions, praise, criticism, tips, suggestions, signed in or anonymous-I take it all. So, remember, review what you read, only takes a minute or so. That is all.**_


	17. Chapter 16:Initiating Operation:Sin City

_**Sorry for not updating in a while, I was just too busy reading over Heirs to the Mantle, a good crossover also including the cycle. I suggest you guys check it out. But enough of that, this is where the Siege of Dras-Leona (codenamed Operation:Sin City) begins! So read on, and guys, **__**PLEASE**__** remember to actually **__**REVIEW**__**! It lets me know that somebody is not just reading, but caring, and when you care for this story, you get quicker updates and progressively better chapters. So read on!**_

Eragon frowned as he looked down. By themselves, he, Murtagh, Thorn, and Saphira could have made it to Dras-Leona by noon. However, due to the slowly marching army and supply train below, they were forced to move along equally.

The rebels had run into the eighty men sent to block the way from Belatona to the city, but they easily surrendered with one look at Pumpkinhead.

His frown turned into a full-blown scowl as he looked back up and turned his head to see Helgrind and it's four peaks. Several of his most horrid experiences had been associated with the accursed mountain, and that went hand in hand with Dras-Leona itself.

From what Eragon could see, the city was as disgusting and ugly as he could remember. The dirt hovels inside the yellow mud ring that encircled the center of the city and the narrow streets and alleys, overlooked by the ramshackle wooden buildings. It made him thirst for bloodshed and destruction in a way unlike at Feinster and Belatona. He wanted to burn the buildings down to nothing but bloody ashes, and destroy the mud ring and let it collapse onto the soldiers below;he wished to strike out with fist and sword, and use all of his magic to lay waste to the hellhole that Dras-Leona was.

As he fantasized about torturing and finally killing the worshipers of Helgrind while smashing their cathedral to bits, he felt Saphira enter his mind.

_We are here, Eragon. I'm about to land_, she told him.

As the two dragons dove down, he saw that Nasuada was already putting the tired men of the Varden to work in digging trenches and setting up the tents. The men looked sterner than when he had last seen them, either because of the long hours of traveling or training with The Prowler, or perhaps both.

As soon as they landed, Eragon and Murtagh volunteered in helping the soldiers set up camp, flattening the fields of wheat so the men could sleep on something softer and lighter than the dirt ground. However, the work was cut short when The Prowler saw what was happening and demanded that the soldiers sleep on the ground.

"I didn't take them this far to see them turn into weak shits again! You want them to lose this war?!" he shouted at Eragon and Murtagh. Eragon cursed under his breath as he saw that all of his work was for naught.

The Prowler, along with Martland and Jörmundur, watched over the men, dwarves, and Urgals (along with several of the elves and werecats) as they started on putting together the catapults, ballistae, and trebuchets they had taken with them all the way from Surda. The dwarves' king, Orik, and the commander Narheim instructed them on how to piece together the siege engines, for the weapons were of their design.

Meanwhile, Saphira and Thorn, along with several of the slashers, destroyed the fences, trees, bushes, huts and everything else that might give the Empire cover should they exit the city and begin fighting outside of it.

After an hour of work, the men then began constructing the mortars The Prowler had taught them to build and started placing them in and around the trenches.

It was nearly dusk when the Varden and their allies were done with all of the preparations. As Nasuada ordered the army to bed after their dinner (which Eragon noticed was smaller for the Varden's soldiers and several Surdan troops as well) The Prowler told all of those who would be fighting to sleep with their armor on them at all times. Hundreds of cries of protest rang out, but were all silenced when The Prowler fired his gun at the feet of a soldier, scaring him badly. The Prowler proceeded to taunt the soldier in front of everyone, calling him a pussy and telling him that if he was to survive the war, he would need to be more than alert.

"What if the Empire's soldiers decide to just throw open the gates and storm your camp without a single warning?!" Prowler asked. "If you're not gonna sleep uncomfortably, then you won't wake up at all!"

This order didn't just go for the regular soldiers, either-the commanders, including Nasuada, and even Eragon, Murtagh, and Saphira and Thorn had to sleep with their armor on. Nobody slept well that night, and the heavy boots of the men who had guard duty constantly walking irritated Eragon to no end. It didn't help that the guards were not allowed to speak unless spoken to by a superior, and the silence was unnerving.

Sitting up, he removed Glaedr's eldunarí from the saddle bag. He gently stroked the Heart of Hearts as its faint glow began to fail again.

_Come on, Glaedr. I know you can hear me_, he told the dragon's soul. _I need your help. If I am to defeat Galbatorix and Shruikan, then you need to educate me not just about magic and mental defense, but about sword fighting, how I can use my opponent's knowledge against them..._

No response.

_Dammit, Glaedr! Quit moping around, you miserable wretch! I know you can hear me, and you better answer very soon, or else we will lose this war and it shall be your fault!_

With that, he felt an immense sadness enter his mind. It was a horrible melancholy mixed with a violent anger and hatred, so much so that Eragon felt like stabbing his eardrums just to make it stop. A dark cloud formed.

_I am trying to manage as best I can-I have suffered a loss you cannot imagine, you narcissistic child. Now leave me be, and do not think of yourself as my better, you psychopathic excuse for a Rider!_

And with that, Glaedr retreated from Eragon's mind, leaving a black void. The dragon's words felt an enormous slap to the face-Gladr's enraged and depressed state only worsened the effects of his short but brutal speech.

Shoving Glaedr away, Eragon fell back onto the ground. He managed to fall asleep, but Glaedr's words left him in a terrified state, for they were the truth.

_-Later the next morning-_

Dawn had barely passed when Nasuada ordered the army to assemble a hundred yards from the main gate leading into the city. The wall was truly imposing, standing at roughly three thousand feet.

"Protector 3, map out the amount of soldiers within the city," Ghostface told the third Killbot. Three seconds passed before Protector 3's module changed to a map of the interior of the city, numerous red dots crowding the map.

"Exactly eight hundred seventy nine thousand two hundred fourteen hostiles within the designated area, sir, as well as a six hundred foot wall of granite and marble compost covering the gate, with the first twenty lines of hostiles wielding axes and with four ballistae behind them " the Killbot droned.

Eragon's doubts shot through the roof as he heard that. _Nearly eight hundred eighty thousand Imperial troops, and a six hundred foot tall pile of rubble blocking the other side of a three thousand foot tall gate? It's like trying to besiege a mountain!_, he thought.

_They do not have dragons_,Saphira snarled. _Nor do they have any slashers._

The soldiers finished assembling when The Prowler started viciously yelling at them, telling them to assemble into the orderly ranks he had taught them based on strategical importance as well as to prevent friendly fire. It took four minutes for everyone to spread out and then reform. At the forefront of the army was Nasuada on her black charger Battle-storm, surrounded by twelve of her Nighthawks guards, increased by six more for the duration of the battle. To the left and right of her were, respectively, Martland Redbeard and Jörmundur. Just a few inches behind her was The Prowler and a platoon assigned to his command, and beside them was Jason and the twenty other slashers. Right next to Jörmundur was King Orrin and his cavalry and infantry. Behind him was Orik and Narheim with the dwarves and Nar Garzhvog with the Urgals. Commander Ramleonar, who was now garbed in the Varden's armor, stood alongside his men and the dwarves.

With a nod from Nasuada and Orrin at the same time, two heralds-one with the Varden's standard, the other with Surda's-rode forth up to the gate until they were just a few feet from it. The Varden's herald unrolled a scroll of parchment and cleared his throat rather loudly before speaking.

"Hail! In the name of Lady Nasuada of the Varden and King Orrin of Surda, as well as all free peoples of the great nation of Alagaësia, we bid that you open your gates so we may deliver a message of great importance unto your lord and master, Marcus Tábor. By it, every man, woman, and child within Dras-Leona shall benefit most greatly!"

A moment of dead air came after the herald delivered the first portion of his speech. His mouth opened again when a horrible rattling, grinding noise flared up. The sound was unnatural, like the bangs from The Prowler's gun and Pumpkinhead's unearthly roars. The sound came from the defenders atop the wall as holes appeared appeared in the backs of the heralds and blood burst out. The horses neighed and turned after the bodies fell off, hurrying back to the Varden. The men began to shift and gasp in horror, but were silenced by The Prowler.

"What-_was that_?" Arya gasped. The sense of profound horror and disgust was prevalent in her emerald eyes, and was reflected by Blödhgarm and Eragon's eleven other elven guards.

"It was a polybolos," Prowler growled. "They're an ancient stationary repeating ballista that can fire again and again without the need to reload. They made appearances in ancient siege warfare in our world."

"What do we do now?" Murtagh asked.

"I say we build some more mortars and attack by my strategy," Prowler suggested.

"I agree," Nasuada said. "However, we wait until later this afternoon, when I presume Roran and the other men from Aroughs shall return and with them, there shall be around eight thousand more Urgals and most of the dwarves' army shall march here. That way, we can have more troops when we launch our attack and there can be more men to build the mortars."

With that, Nasuada had the army stand down for the time being and Jason and the other slashers were forced to retire at the moment. The slashers, along with Eragon, Murtagh, Saphira, Thorn, Arya, Nasuada, Garzhvog, Orik, Orrin, and Jörmundur retreated into Nasuada's tent to discuss The Prowler's strategy once they had managed to get past the gate and into the city. Jason spread out a large map of the whole city, the major areas labeled in red ink.

"My platoon and I will make our way to the Suburban District and fight our way into the center of the area. Jason, along with Michael and Eragon and Murtagh, will take the Agricultural District while their dragons will besiege Tábor's estate just to the north of them. You, Cordell, are going to take some of the soldiers and available slashers-I don't care which, take your pick- and will capture the Central Plaza while the rest of you will fight your way into the Upper District. However, you, Pinhead, will take control of the area just outside of that ugly cathedral. Is this understood?"

All of them voiced their understanding of the plan while Orik told him, "when my knurlan arrive, we shall enter the city from the east and west using our ladders and siege towers, so as to pin the Empire's men in between."

After a few more minutes spent discussing the preparations, the thirty two individuals exited the tent and began ordering the men to strategically position the currently constructed mortars, as well as the catapults, trebuchets, archers, and ballistae. Pushing a catapult a few feet in front of a trench, Jason walked over to Eragon, who was struggling to push a simple siege tower.

Placing his hand on the back of one of the wheels, he gave the tower a little nudge and it went rolling into its designated position.

"How-?" Eragon asked, dumbfounded.

"All you had to do was give it a little push," Jason sarcastically told him. "So, once we slaughter our way in, you and your brother-"

"_Half _brother," Eragon growled.

"Whatever. You're gonna get onto your dragons and fly over us and then incinerate the soldiers below you, correct?"

"Yes," Eragon said. "And then, the Varden and their allies shall charge into the city, and Murtagh and I shall join you and Michael at the Agricultural District." Eragon then leaned in a bit and said in a hushed tone, "and do not kill or maim any civilians, Jason, even if they attack." He shuddered as he thought back to yesterday morning, when a woman of Belatona refused to let her husband, who was thankful for the Varden repairing his home quickly, leave to besiege Dras-Leona and slapped Jason, only to get her hand sliced clean off.

Jason simply shrugged. "If they attack, I will fight back. You have no power over me, _Shadeslayer_."

After Jason left the scene, Eragon spent the next hour storing energy in Aren and the Belt of Beloth the Wise. Some of this energy came from Saphira and Thorn, as well as from the eldunarí Murtagh had brought, although taking energy from the eldunarí was problematic, as Murtagh had to subdue them due to their insanity brought about by Galbatorix's dark spells. He would need everything he could get his hands on to survive this battle.

Heading back to his tent, he realized he was beginning to forget some of the most important spells Brom and Oromis had taught him and so took to writing them down in his journal, practicing the sounds and meanings of each single word, and spent another half hour creating several new spells that could prove useful for the battle. A Compendium was hardly an original idea, yes, but it left him relieved that he could reference a piece of crucial knowledge whenever he needed to.

_-One hour later-_

To the joy of the Varden, Roran, The Miner, and the other men who went with him arrived from Aroughs, accompanied by forty six other men and the eight thousand Urgals Nar Garzhvog had promised and the eighty thousand dwarves that had marched from the Beor Mountains.

Eragon had always thought that The Miner looked like an officious prick, but to his surprise, the other slashers (minus his own father The Prowler, and the mostly stoic Pinhead and Tall Man) actually greeted him quite warmly.

"How went the siege?" Eragon asked his cousin.

"It just took us two days when we arrived," Roran answered. "I must say, that Miner-well, were it not for him, it would have taken us longer and it would have cost us many more men. He was also a good fighter, killing dozens of men in just a minute, although I guess I should expect that from a slasher."

After the greetings had finished, Eragon told Roran and Jason told Miner of their plan for Operation:Sin City. Roran almost immediately got his men to start constructing new mortars while The Miner stood just between Freddy and Chromeskull.

Orik's dwarves and Commander Ramleonar's men gathered to the left while Narheim and his dwarves assembled to the right, clutching at their ladders and finishing the placements of their siege towers. The main body of the army gathered in front of the gate, getting into position as The Tall Man's Lurkers, Gravers, and Demon Troopers gathered closely behind the slashers.

At that moment, Eragon heard the distinctive patter on the ground of elves running, running towards him. Seeing that his elven guards were already with him and Arya was in front of the sixty elves currently with the Varden, he turned to see twenty elves he had never seen before.

"Argetlam," the lead elf breathed. Eragon simply nodded in response.

Leading the elves to Arya, he told her, "Islanzadí, your mother, has sent exactly twenty more of her elves to us just now."

"Very well," she said as she motioned for the elves to get behind her.

Walking over to Jason, he told him the same thing about the elves. The only response he gave was a low grunt.

Taking his place right next to Saphira, who was alongside Thorn and Murtagh, he thumbed the pommel of Brisingr as the army finally finished assembling and all went silent. A minute later, The Prowler cried:

"_OPEN FIRE!_"

With that, Eragon and Murtagh uttered their spell and the missiles went flying out of the mortars towards the top of and over the gate.

_-POV change-_

The Imperial soldiers stood just a few inches from the gate and the six hundred foot granite and marble pile blocking it. Outside, the Varden's army went deathly silent. And then, the Imperials heard a thickly accented man shout:

"_OPEN FIRE!_"

The men tensed. What did "open fire" even mean? Who was this man? Were the Varden about to retreat? That was what all of the Imperials _wanted _to happen.

Alas, it was not to be. Just a few seconds after the man's battle cry, almost one hundred streaks of dark red light sped into the sky before diving down towards the top of the gate.

"_The Varden are attacking! The Varden are attacking!_"

The four thousand axemen readied their battle axes as the four ballistae behind them were manned by their crew, while the soldiers behind them unstrapped their shields and readied their weapons.

The streaks of light crashed into the top of the gate. Several hit just below it as well. The men in the city watched in horror as the defenders atop the gate vanished in an incredibly loud blast of red light, while some large pieces of the gate, which were superheated by the explosions, fell onto several of the soldiers. The lucky ones were sliced vertically in half by the falling masonry, while the unluckiest of them were crushed underneath the glowing, red hot material, left to melt to death.

The explosions were so tremendous, the wall of granite and marble rubble blocking the gate collapsed inwards, some of it crushing to death a few of the axemen while the rest of it fell onto and demolished the houses.

After the top of the gate had been all but vaporized, several more streaks of light shot up, and then came speeding down, right towards the twenty lines of axemen.

When the missiles hit, it was worse than any bloodbath they had ever experienced in the war;those that were directly hit or were closest to the explosions vanished, leaving behind only ash and bone fragments. Some surviving steel shards that used to be their weapons and armor were now nothing more than pieces of molten slag. Those farthest from the blasts were melted alive, and in some particularly gruesome cases, after their flesh and muscle melted, their armor slowly melted inwards before hardening onto the bone.

A second, smaller explosion came at almost the same time as the red blasts. These explosions flung speeding, razor sharp shards of metal into their ranks, cutting down anyone they touched. Those that survived the effects of both explosions tried to regroup, only to be showered by a disgusting green liquid which melted through their flesh and clothing, causing them to bleed to death.

One of the missiles sent a shard of shrapnel through the main operator of the ballista that was second to the left, severing his spine and killing him instantly. Another missile landed directly onto the last ballista, incinerating it and its crew and covering the third ballista before it was flung back into the ranks of the other soldiers, killing and wounding dozens of men.

Next to come were the Varden's arrows, which spread flames, death, and absolute chaos through the Imperials' ranks. Then came the boulders, which crushed the soldiers they landed on and liquified their bones before rolling forward, splattering anyone stupid or unfortunate enough to be in their way, pulverizing the bones in their limbs.

Last were the flaming javelins from the rebels' ballistae, causing even greater explosions than the flaming arrows;the first ballista was blown to pieces by one of the javelins, in an extreme form of situational irony.

_-POV change-_

Jason stood clutching the hilt of his machete, listening in joy as he heard the Empire's soldiers utter their final screams.

"Shall my men bring down the gates with our battering ram now, Jason?" Jörmundur asked as he walked up to the hulking killer.

"No. We'll wait for at least two more minutes, so the ground can cool down and they can clear away the boulders and the fires," Jason told him in response. Jörmundur nodded before he ran back to his position.

The Imperial commanders were heard screeching, "Get the buckets of water! Get the buckets, put out the flames!" and "Clear away the boulders! Clear them away, I say, CLEAR AWAY THE BOULDERS!"

Jason slowly began to draw his machete;Freddy stretched his gloved hand, spreading his claws;Michael raised his kitchen knife while Leatherface prepared to start up his chainsaw.

"Alright, regroup! Regroup, you lot, REGROUP!"

Jason nodded to Jörmundur, who in turn yelled, "CHARGE!"

The battering ram sped forward and slammed into the gate with a resounding _BOOM_, but it did not open.

"One more time:CHARGE!"

The battering ram crashed into the gate, and this time, it was flung open, revealing the interior of the city to the slashers. Jason whipped out his machete as Leatherface pulled the power cord on the saw.

"Now," he calmly said. The slashers all ran forward, save for Michael and Tall Man, Tall Man's undead slaves following closely behind. After they ran through the open gate, Leatherface's chainsaw started up at last, the roar of the engine causing the hairs on the heads of the Imperial soldiers to stand on end.

Jason stuck his machete in his side, so as to both show the Imperials his lack of fear and to take out his bow. He fired several arrows into the mass of targets before him, all of them hitting a vital spot and killing their target with a minute at most.

After disarming his bow and reequipping the machete, The Miner began firing off his nail gun and Pinhead summoned several hooks and chains, dismembering and flaying any soldier they touched;a small explosion left a bloody crater in the middle of the Imperial ranks, another work of art by Pinhead.

The ranged attacks stopped as they ran right into the soldiers, crashing into them like a tidal wave onto the rocks on a shore. The ensuing fight was bloody and brutal;Jason saw a wounded man with several arrows in his arms, and stomped on his forehead, instantly caving in the entire front of the skull with a nasty _crack_. Picking up a vine, two Laughing Dead charging at him with hate on their minds. He swung the vine and nearly decapitated one of the men, his head remaining attached to his body by a single flap of skin. He discarded the vine by throwing it through the second soldier's torso, before it exited through his back and sliced his spinal cord in half. The soldier crumpled to the ground with a throaty gurgle.

A six-and-a-half-foot tall axeman nervously decapitated a Graver as he saw his comrades fall to the hideous resurrected corpses, their eyes being gouged out and their throats being bitten. Staring at the twitching body and the rolling head, he heard an odd humming noise in front of him. Looking up, a regular Sentinel unleashed its forked blades and impaled itself into his head. The axeman dropped his weapons and screamed as the drill ripped into his head and began skewering his brain. Twenty four feet behind him, a Grenade Sentinel impaled the forehead of a swordsman, rang, and exploded.

Cropsy hissed as a swordsman slashed his left forearm before he shoved the hedge trimmers into his throat and swung them out. Realizing some of the slashers were still just human, a General gathered five of his men and tried to charge the burnt caretaker. "If the human ones have too many opponents at once, they will eventually fall!" was his logic.

Seeing the six men, Cropsy equipped his flamethrower and unleashed a roaring tongue of yellow flame. The General gasped and stumbled into his men, bowling them over as the flames washed over them and several other soldiers. Though the General and his men were immune to pain, they remained motionless, realizing they were going to burn to death.

Candyman saw what happened with Cropsy and, realizing these Imperials were ridiculously gullible, allowed an arrow to hit his torso. He continued walking towards the archer, who unleashed two more arrows. With the third arrow, Candyman put his plan into action:gasping, he clutched at the arrow and fell forward. The archer turned around with a grin on his face and shouted to the other Imperials:

"They can die! I just killed one of them! These demons are able to d-!"

A hooked appendage burst from his face, his expression not even being given time to change as a smiling Candyman threw his corpse into the mass of men. Opening his coat and mouth, millions of bees swarmed over three thousand Imperials, stinging them to death as they ran in circles, screaming before their lips and tongues swelled up from the stings.

_-POV change-_

The Prowler impaled the man, who could have been no more than fifteen, on his bayonet before pulling the trigger and shooting him off. Just two feet behind him, one of his comrades got struck in the stomach by the bullet. He screamed as he clutched at the smoking hole in his torso and fell back.

"Help me! Help, I've been shot!"

The Prowler turned his head to the side to see his friend Lieutenant Francis Bergerone, lying in the sand. Blood pooled from the smoldering bullet hole just below his left knee as he clutched at it and tried to stem the bleeding, but to no avail. Surrounding him were several charred corpses.

Just as he was about to move closer and lean down to help Francis up, a frantic shout pierced his ears. His head shot up, only to see one of those fucking Japanese freaks, his gun raised in a manner so as to beat him to death as he charged at him.

He raised his left arm and pulled the trigger. The bullet sped through the yellow-devil's chest before his face was obscured by the fine red mist bursting from the wound. His small eyes went slack as he crumpled to the ground, and then The Prowler gasped.

The Japanese man was just another Imperial soldier, and Francis was one as well, the bullet wound replaced by an arrow that had wounded him during the Varden's opening bombardment. Angered, The Prowler shoved his pitchfork through the wounded soldier's stomach. He stopped breathing three seconds later, before his eyes and face relaxed and turned pale.

_-POV change-_

Eragon placed his helmet on his head and thumbed the hilt of Brisingr as he leaped onto Saphira's saddle.

_Wait for Murtagh_, Thorn told them.

_Why-?_, Eragon was asking when he turned to see his half brother kneeling over, his face green and his stomach looking as if though it was about to explode.

"Vaetna_,_" Eragon muttered. Murtagh's face returned to its normal color as he stood back up, coughing.

"Are you okay?" Eragon asked.

Murtagh shook his head. "Them, those-those slashers! No creature should be able to kill so many, and so disgustingly, like that!"

"You'll get used to it," Eragon told him before Murtagh crawled onto Thorn's saddle. However, he could not deny Murtagh's words. He himself was still horrified by how brutally and coldly the slashers slaughtered the soldiers of the Empire.

Saphira and Thorn simultaneously lifted their wings and soared into the sky above the city. They scanned the area before diving down to a a section of the street filled with soldiers around thirty feet ahead of the slashers. The two dragons opened their maws and unleashed two jets of flame, one red and the other blue. The two tongues of flame mingled together to create a rolling wave of purple fire that consumed half of the soldiers in the designated area. On the rooftops of the buildings were a dozen archers each, and they all attempted to shoot down the dragons and their Riders, but Saphira and Thorn dodged most of them, in which case the arrows either killed or wounded some of the soldiers on the streets. The rest of the arrows bounced off the dragons' armor.

Thorn blasted one of the rooftops with a jet of flame, while Saphira deftly spun around as she dived back down while lashing another one of the rooftops with her spiked tail, causing the entire roof to come crashing down on the soldiers.

As the purple flames died down and the slashers were able to make their way through the rest of the street, the war cries of the Varden and their allies were heard as they charged into the city. It had not even been five minutes since the opening bombardment, and already thirty thousand of the Empire's soldiers were either dead or dying.

_-POV change-_

As the Varden rushed in, several of the Empire's troops ran forward to try to reinforce the front lines, and laughed as they saw the Varden. Dragons and monstrous murderers they could not deal with, but they thought the Varden themselves would be easy enough.

One of the Varden's soldiers ran towards an Imperial swordsman, who visibly smirked as he saw the soldier's solid, stone-cold expression. Trusting the two spear-carriers and seven archers behind him, he moved to the left so they could skewer the man.

Realizing what was happening, the Varden soldier sheathed his sword and, just as the spear-carriers and archers launched their projectiles, grabbed the Imperial soldier and turned him around to see his own comrades accidentally skewer him. Though the soldier felt no pain, he still screamed as his own friends wounded him. His screams and thoughts were cut off as the Varden soldier tossed him into a nearby fire, before he unsheathed his sword and cut down the seven archers and two spear-carriers.

Ahead of him, another swordsman of the Varden ran his blade through a soldier of the Empire before smashing his shield into another Imperial's face, breaking his nose and several of his teeth while knocking him out cold and bowling him into three of his companions. The swordsman thrust his word towards the chest of another soldier, but his blade was blocked. He tried to cut him on his neck, but the blow was parried. The Imperial attempted to catch him in the throat but the sword was blocked, at which point the Varden swordsman decapitated him. Shoving the body to the side, he continued to charge into the fray.

_-POV change-_

Eragon and Murtagh jumped off their dragons as Saphira and Thorn began to descend before they flew away to besiege Marcus Tábor's estate. Fending off the soldiers blocking their way, they at last met up with the slashers.

A black ball of medium size, with a spark of flame on the top of it, hit Pumpkinhead. The vengeance demon picked up the ball and held it up high for the Imperials who fired it to see. It grinned wickedly before the ball exploded. The smoke and flames soon cleared to show an unharmed Pumpkinhead, with only smoke coming off its body.

Another one of the balls hit Pumpkinhead. Thoroughly annoyed now, it roared as it picked up the ball and tossed it into the weapon that had fired it, blowing up, both of the men controlling the weapon. A hail of arrows from the Varden killed the two men that had fired the first ball.

Remembering what Roran had told him of the "grenade launchers" and their "bombs" at Aroughs, Eragon saw a third pair across from him on another rooftop fire another one bomb. Quick thinking by Eragon led to the bomb being levitated high into the air where it exploded harmlessly. Suddenly, the two men went rigid. The man who loaded the grenade launcher locked in the bomb before he fell dead;the other man pointed at a crowd of Imperials before firing. He too fell dead after the bomb exploded.

Nodding to Eragon, Murtagh shouted, "Brisingr!" A barrel of tar went up in wine red flames behind several archers before it exploded.

"You two!" The Prowler snapped at them. "Go with Jason and Michael to the Agricultural District _now_." He turned to see his platoon running up behind him. "You miserable bitches, follow me! We're going to take the Suburban District-"

"I'm coming with you," Cropsy grunted.

"As am I," Protector 3 droned. The Prowler nodded and then ran towards the Suburban District, his men and the two other slashers following. Pinhead teleported away to fight at the cathedral.

"Who's coming with me to the Central Plaza?" Cordell asked. Seven slashers raised their hands, three of them being Chromeskull, Ghostface, and Chucky, who were instructed by Jason to use their stealth and agility to sneak behind enemy lines and wreak bloody havoc. They agreed without protest. Cordell then left for the plaza, followed by those three and the four other slashers-Candyman, Madman Marz, Night School Killer, and The Creeper-as well as around two hundred soldiers.

"The rest of you," Jason commanded, "are going to go to the Upper District. Now go."

After the other slashers, Roran, Arya, Nasuada, and Orrin left, Jason turned to face Murtagh and Eragon and his twelve guards. He nodded to them before he turned, Michael following by his side. Eragon contacted Saphira one final time.

_Be careful_, he told her.

_It is you who needs to be careful. None of these scampering ants can hurt me or Thorn_, she scoffed.

"Let's follow them," Murtagh said. He and Eragon ran behind Michael and Jason, towards the Agricultural District.

Operation:Sin City had begun.

_**Part Two of the Siege of Dras-Leona shall be apart of the next chapter. So, how did you guys like this one? Don't be afraid to actually give me your thoughts:tell me what you liked, hated, what I should do more of, what I should improve on. And for those of you who are reading, and even Favoriting and Following, but NOT reviewing, is it too hard to write a review? It's not that I care about reviews more than this story, but I REALLY would like to hear your guys' opinions.**_


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